THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
Miss  Nancy  Bangert 


THE   LAST  DAYS 
OF  POMPEII 


"Such  is  Vesuvius  T  and  these  things  take  place  in  it  every  year. 
But  all  eruptions  which  have  happened  since  would  be  trifling,  even 
if  all  summed  into  one,  compared  to  what  occurred  at  the  period  we 
refer  to. 

"Day  was  turned  into  night,  and  light  into  darkness;  an  inex- 
pressible quantity  of  dust  and  ashes  was  poured  out,  deluging  land, 
sea,  and  air,  and  burying  two  entire  cities,  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii, 
while  the  people  were  sitting  in  the  theatre  ! " — DION  CASSIUS,  lib- 
Ixvi. 


So  you  are  returned!"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 


THE 

LAST  DAYS  OF 
POMPEII 

By 

EDWARD   BULWER   LYTTON 


Illustrated  by 

C.   H.  WHITE 


Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
New  York  J904 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


PfL 


CO 

SIR  WILLIAM  CELL, 

&c.,  &c. 

DEAR  SIR, 

In  publishing  a  work,  of  which  Pompeii  fur- 
nishes the  subject,  I  can  think  of  no  one  to  whom  it 
can  so  fitly  be  dedicated  as  yourself.  Your  charming 
volumes  upon  the  antiquities  of  that  City  have  indis- 
solubly  connected  your  name  with  its  earlier  —  (as  your 
residence  in  the  vicinity  has  identified  you  with  its 
more  recent)  —  associations. 

Ere  you  receive  these  volumes,  I  hope  to  be  deep 
in  the  perusal  of  your  forthcoming  work  upon  "  the 
Topography  of  Rome  and  its  Vicinity."  The  glance 
at  its  contents  which  you  permitted  me  at  Naples  suf- 
ficed to  convince  me  of  its  interest  and  value  ;  and,  as 
an  Englishman,  and  as  one  who  has  loitered  under  the 
Portico,  I  rejoice  to  think  that,  in  adding  largely  to 
your  own  reputation,  you  will  also  renovate  our  coun- 
try's claim  to  eminence  in  those  departments  of  learn- 
ing in  which  of  late  years  we  have  but  feebly  supported 
our  ancient  reputation.  Venturing  thus  a  prediction 
of  the  success  of  your  work,  it  would  be  a  little  super- 
fluous to  express  a  wish  for  the  accomplishment  of 
the  prophecy  !  But  I  may  add  a  more  general  hope, 
that  you  will  long  have  leisure  and  inclination  for  those 
literary  pursuits  to  which  you  bring  an  erudition  so 
extensive;  —  and  that  they  may  continue,  as  now, 
sometimes  to  beguile  you  from  yourself,  and  never 
to  divert  you  from  your  friends. 

I  have  the  honour  to  be, 

Dear  Sir, 
Very  faithfully  yours, 

THE  AUTHOR. 

LEAMINGTON, 

September  21,  1834. 


PREFACE 

TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION,  1834 

On  visiting  those  disinterred  remains  of  an  ancient 
city  which,  more  perhaps  than  either  the  delicious 
breeze  or  the  cloudless  sun,  the  violet  valleys  and 
orange-groves  of  the  South,  attract  the  traveller  to  the 
neighbourhood  of  Naples ;  on  viewing,  still  fresh  and 
vivid,  the  houses,  the  streets,  the  temples,  the  theatres 
of  a  place  existing  in  the  haughtiest  age  of  the  Roman 
empire — it  was  not  unnatural,  perhaps,  that  a  writer 
who  had  before  laboured,  however  unworthily,  in  the 
art  to  revive  and  to  create,  should  feel  a  keen  desire 
to  people  once  more  those  deserted  streets,  to  repair 
those  graceful  ruins,  to  reanimate  the  bones  which 
were  yet  spared  to  his  survey ;  to  traverse  the  gulf  of 
eighteen  centuries,  and  to  wake  to  a  second  existence 
— the  City  of  the  Dead! 

And  the  reader  will  easily  imagine  how  sensibly  this 
desire  grew  upon  one  whose  task  was  undertaken  in 
the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  Pompeii — the  sea 
that  once  bore  her  commerce,  and  received  her  fugi- 
tives, at  his  feet — and  the  fatal  mountain  of  Vesuvius 
still  breathing  forth  smoke  and  fire  constantly  before 
his  eyes  I1 

I  was  aware  from  the  first,  however,  of  the  great 
difficulties  with  which  I  had  to  contend.  To  paint  the 
manners,  and  exhibit  the  life,  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
required  the  hand  of  a  master  genius ;  yet,  perhaps, 
that  task  was  slight  and  easy  in  comparison  with  the 

1  Nearly  the  whole  of  this  work  was  written  at  Naples  last 
winter  (1832-33). 


x  PREFACE 

attempt  to  portray  a  far  earlier  and  more  unfamiliar 
period.  With  the  men  and  customs  of  the  feudal  time 
we  have  a  natural  sympathy  and  bond  of  alliance ; 
those  men  were  our  own  ancestors — from  those  cus- 
toms we  received  our  own — the  creed  of  our  chivalric 
fathers  is  still  ours — their  tombs  yet  consecrate  our 
churches — the  ruins  of  their  castles  yet  frown  over 
our  valleys.  We  trace  in  their  struggles  for  liberty 
and  for  justice  our  present  institutions ;  and  in  the 
elements  of  their  social  state  we  behold  the  origin  of 
our  own. 

But  with  the  classical  age  we  have  no  household 
and  familiar  associations.  The  creed  of  that  departed 
religion,  the  customs  of  that  past  civilisation,  present 
little  that  is  sacred  or  attractive  to  our  northern  im- 
aginations ;  they  are  rendered  yet  more  trite  to  us 
by  the  scholastic  pedantries  which  first  acquainted 
us  with  their  natures,  and  are  linked  with  the  recollec- 
tion of  studies  which  were  imposed  as  a  labour,  and 
not  cultivated  as  a  delight. 

Yet  the  enterprise,  though  arduous,  seemed  to  me 
worth  attempting ;  and  in  the  time  and  the  scene  I  have 
chosen,  much  may  be  found  to  arouse  the  curiosity 
of  the  reader,  and  enlist  his  interest  in  the  descriptions 
of  the  author.  It  was  the  first  century  of  our  religion  ; 
it  was  the  most  civilised  period  of  Rome ;  the  conduct 
of  the  story  lies  amidst  places  whose  relics  we  yet 
trace ;  the  catastrophe  is  among  the  most  awful  which 
the  tragedies  of  Ancient  History  present  to  our  sur- 
vey. 

From  the  ample  materials  before  me,  my  endeavour 
has  been  to  select  those  which  would  be  most  attrac- 
tive to  a  modern  reader; — the  customs  and  supersti- 
tions least  unfamiliar  to  him — the  shadows  that,  when 
reanimated,  would  present  to  him  such  images  as, 
while  they  represented  the  past,  might  be  least  unin- 
teresting to  the  speculations  of  the  present.  It  did 


PREFACE  xi 

indeed  require  a  greater  self-control  than  the  reader 
may  at  first  imagine,  to  reject  much  that  was  most 
inviting  in  itself ;  but  which,  while  it  might  have  added 
attraction  to  parts  of  the  work,  would  have  been  in- 
jurious to  the  symmetry  of  the  whole.  Thus,  for 
instance,  the  date  of  my  story  is  that  of  the  short  reign 
of  Titus,  when  Rome  was  at  its  proudest  and  most 
gigantic  eminence  of  luxury  and  power.  It  was,  there- 
fore, a  most  inviting  temptation  to  the  Author  to 
conduct  the  characters  of  his  tale,  during  the  progress 
of  its  incidents,  from  Pompeii  to  Rome.  What  could 
afford  such  materials  for  description,  or  such  field  for 
the  vanity  of  display,  as  that  gorgeous  city  of  the 
world,  whose  grandeur  could  lend  so  bright  an  inspira- 
tion to  fancy — so  favourable  and  so  solemn  a  dignity 
to  research?  But,  in  choosing  for  my  subject,  my 
catastrophe,  the  Destruction  of  Pompeii,  it  required 
but  little  insight  into  the  higher  principles  of  art  to 
perceive  that  to  Pompeii  the  story  should  be  rigidly 
confined. 

Placed  in  contrast  with  the  mighty  pomp  of  Rome, 
the  luxuries  and  gaud  of  the  vivid  Campanian  city 
would  have  sunk  into  insignificance.  Her  awful  fate 
would  have  seemed  but  a  petty  and  isolated  wreck  in 
the  vast  seas  of  the  imperial  sway ;  and  the  auxiliary 
I  should  have  summoned  to  the  interest  of  my  story 
would  only  have  destroyed  and  overpowered  the  cause 
it  was  invoked  to  support.  I  was  therefore  compelled 
to  relinquish  an  episodical  excursion  so  alluring  in 
itself,  and,  confining  my  story  strictly  to  Pompeii,  to 
leave  to  others  the  honour  of  delineating  the  hollow 
but  majestic  civilisation  of  Rome. 

The  city,  whose  fate  supplied  me  with  so  superb  and 
awful  a  catastrophe,  supplied  easily,  from  the  first 
survey  of  its  remains,  the  characters  most  suited  to 
the  subject  and  the  scene :  the  half-Grecian  colony  of 
Hercules,  mingling  with  the  manners  of  Italy  so  much 
of  the  costumes  of  Hellas,  suggested  of  itself  the 


xii  PREFACE 

characters  of  Glaucus  and  lone.  The  worship  of  Isis, 
its  existent  fane,  with  its  false  oracles  unveiled — the 
trade  of  Pompeii  with  Alexandria — the  associations 
of  the  Sarnus  with  the  Nile, — called  forth  the  Egyptian 
Arbaces,  the  base  Calenus,  and  the  fervent  Apaecides. 
The  early  struggles  of  Christianity  with  the  heathen 
superstition  suggested  the  creation  of  Olinthus :  and 
the  burnt  fields  of  Campania,  long  celebrated  for  the 
spells  of  the  sorceress,  naturally  produced  the  Saga  of 
Vesuvius.  For  the  existence  of  the  Blind  Girl,  I  am 
indebted  to  a  casual  conversation  with  a  gentleman, 
well  known  amongst  the  English  at  Naples  for  his  gen- 
eral knowledge  of  the  many  paths  of  life.  Speaking 
of  the  utter  darkness  which  accompanied  the  first  re- 
corded eruption  of  Vesuvius,  and  the  additional  ob- 
stacle it  presented  to  the  escape  of  the  inhabitants, 
he  observed  that  the  blind  would  be  the  most  favoured 
in  such  a  moment,  and  find  the  easiest  deliverance.  In 
this  remark  originated  the  creation  of  Nydia. 

The  characters,  therefore,  are  the  natural  offspring 
of  the  scene  and  time.  The  incidents  of  the  tale  are 
equally  consonant,  perhaps,  to  the  then  existent  soci- 
ety ;  for  it  is  not  only  the  ordinary  habits  of  life,  the 
feasts  and  the  forum,  the  baths  and  the  amphitheatre, 
the  commonplace  routine  of  the  classic  luxury,  which 
we  recall  the  past  to  behold ; — equally  important,  and 
more  deeply  interesting,  are  the  passions,  the  crimes, 
the  misfortunes,  and  reverses  that  might  have  chanced 
to  the  shades  we  thus  summon  to  life  !  We  understand 
any  epoch  of  the  world  but  ill  if  we  do  not  examine 
its  romance.  There  is  as  much  truth  in  the  poetry  of 
life  as  in  its  prose. 

As  the  greatest  difficulty  in  treating  of  an  unfamiliar 
and  distant  period  is  to  make  the  characters  introduced 
"  live  and  move  "  before  the  eye  of  the  reader,  so  such 
should  doubtless  be  the  first  object  of  a  work  of  the 
present  description  ;  and  all  attempts  at  the  display  of 
learning  should  be  considered  but  as  means  subser- 


PREFACE  xiii 

vient  to  this,  the  main  requisite  of  fiction.  The  first 
art  of  the  Poet  (the  creator)  is  to  breathe  the  breath 
of  life  into  his  creatures — the  next  is  to  make  their 
words  and  actions  appropriate  to  the  era  in  which  they 
are  to  speak  and  act.  This  last  art  is,  perhaps,  the 
better  effected  by  not  bringing  the  art  itself  constantly 
before  the  reader — by  not  crowding  the  page  with 
quotations,  and  the  margin  with  notes.  The  intuitive 
spirit  which  infuses  antiquity  into  ancient  images,  is, 
perhaps,  the  true  learning  which  a  work  of  this  nature 
requires ;  without  it,  pedantry  is  offensive — with  it, 
useless.  No  man  who  is  thoroughly  aware  of  what 
Prose  Fiction  has  now  become — of  its  dignity,  of  its 
influence,  of  the  manner  in  which  it  has  gradually 
absorbed  all  similar  departments  of  literature,  of  its 
power  in  teaching  as  well  as  amusing — can  so  far  for- 
get its  connection  with  History,  with  Philosophy,  with 
Politics — its  utter  harmony  with  Poetry  and  obedience 
to  Truth — as  to  debase  its  nature  to  the  level  of 
scholastic  frivolities :  he  raises  scholarship  to  the 
creative,  and  does  not  bow  the  creative  to  the  scho- 
lastic. 

With  respect  to  the  language  used  by  the  characters 
introduced,  I  have  studied  carefully  to  avoid  what  has 
always  seemed  to  me  a  fatal  error  in  those  who  have 
attempted,  in  modern  times,  to  introduce  the  beings 
of  a  classical  age.1  Authors  have  mostly  given  to 

1  What  the  strong  common  sense  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  has 
expressed  so  well  in  his  preface  to  "  Ivanhoe  "  (ist  edition), 
appears  to  me  at  least  as  applicable  to  a  writer  who  draws 
from  classical  as  to  one  who  borrows  from  feudal  antiquity. 
Let  me  avail  myself  of  the  words  I  refer  to,  and  humbly  and 
reverently  appropriate  them  for  the  moment : — "  It  is  true  that 
I  neither  can,  nor  do  pretend,  to  the  observation  [observance?] 
of  complete  accuracy  even  in  matters  of  outward  costume, 
much  less  in  the  more  important  points  of  language  and  man- 
ners. But  the  same  motive  which  prevents  my  writing  the 
dialogue  of  the  piece  in  Anglo-Saxon,  or  in  Norman-French 
[in  Latin  or  in  Greek],  and  which  prohibits  my  sending  forth 
this  essay  printed  with  the  types  of  Caxton  or  Wynken  de 
Worde  [written  with  a  reed  upon  five  rolls  of  parchment,  fast- 


XIV 


PREFACE 


them  the  stilted  sentences,  the  cold  and  didactic  solem- 
nities of  language  which  they  find  in  the  more  admired 
of  the  classical  writers.  It  is  an  error  as  absurd  to 
make  Romans  in  common  life  talk  in  the  periods  of 
Cicero,  as  it  would  be  in  a  novelist  to  endow  his 
English  personages  with  the  long-drawn  sentences  of 
Johnson  or  Burke.  The  fault  is  the  greater,  because, 
while  it  pretends  to  learning,  it  betrays  in  reality  the 
ignorance  of  just  criticism — it  fatigues,  it  wearies,  it 
revolts — and  we  have  not  the  satisfaction,  in  yawning, 
to  think  that  we  yawn  eruditely.  To  impart  anything 
like  fidelity  to  the  dialogues  of  classic  actors,  we  must 
beware  (to  use  a  university  phrase)  how  we  "  cram  " 
for  the  occasion  !  Nothing  can  give  to  a  writer  a  more 
stiff  and  uneasy  gait  than  the  sudden  and  hasty  adop- 
tion of  the  toga.  We  must  bring  to  our  task  the 
familiarised  knowledge  of  many  years ;  the  allusions, 
the  phraseology,  the  language  generally,  must  flow 
from  a  stream  that  has  long  been  full ;  the  flowers 
must  be  transplanted  from  a  living  soil,  and  not  bought 
secondhand  at  the  nearest  market-place.  This  ad- 

ened  to  a  cylinder,  and  adorned  with  a  boss],  prevents  attempt- 
ing to  confine  myself  within  the  limits  of  the  period  to  which 
my  story  is  laid.  It  is  necessary  for  exciting  interest  of  any 
kind,  that  the  subject  assumed  should  be,  as  it  were,  translated 
into  the  manners  as  well  as  the  language  of  the  age  we  live  in. 

******* 
"  In  point  of  justice,  therefore,  to  the  multitudes  who  will, 
I  trust,  devour  this  book  with  avidity  [hem!],  I  have  so  far 
explained  ancient  manners  in  modern  language,  and  so  far 
detailed  the  characters  and  sentiments  of  my  persons,  that  the 
modern  reader  will  not  find  himself,  I  should  hope,  much 
trammelled  by  the  repulsive  dryness  of  mere  antiquity.  In  this, 
I  respectfully  contend,  I  have  in  no  respect  exceeded  the  fair 
license  due  to  the  author  of  a  fictitious  composition. 

******* 

"  It  is  true,"  proceeds  my  authority,  "  that  this  license  is 
confined  within  legitimate  bounds ;  the  author  must  intro- 
duce nothing  inconsistent  with  the  manners  of  the  age." — 
Preface  to  "  Ivanhoe." 

I  can  add  nothing  to  these  judicious  and  discriminating  re- 
marks ;  they  form  the  canon  of  true  criticism,  by  which  all 
fiction  that  portrays  the  past  should  be  judged. 


PREFACE  xv 

vantage — which  is,  in  fact,  only  that  of  familiarity  with 
our  subject — is  one  derived  rather  from  accident  than 
merit,  and  depends  upon  the  degree  in  which  the 
classics  have  entered  into  the  education  of  our  youth 
and  the  studies  of  our  maturity.  Yet,  even  did  a  writer 
possess  the  utmost  advantage  of  this  nature  which 
education  and  study  can  bestow,  it  might  be  scarcely 
possible  so  entirely  to  transport  himself  to  an  age  so 
different  from  his  own,  but  that  he  would  incur  some 
inaccuracies,  some  errors  of  inadvertence  or  forgetful- 
ness.  And  when,  in  works  upon  the  manners  of  the 
ancients — works  even  of  the  gravest  character,  com- 
posed by  the  profoundest  scholars — some  such  imper- 
fections will  often  be  discovered,  even  by  a  critic  in 
comparison  but  superficially  informed,  it  would  be  far 
too  presumptuous  in  me  to  hope  that  I  have  been  more 
fortunate  than  men  infinitely  more  learned,  in  a  work 
in  which  learning  is  infinitely  less  required.  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  I  venture  to  believe  that  scholars 
themselves  will  be  the  most  lenient  of  my  judges. 
Enough  if  this  book,  whatever  its  imperfections, 
should  be  found  a  portrait — unskilful,  perhaps,  in 
colouring,  faulty  in  drawing,  but  not  altogether  un- 
faithful to  the  features  and  the  costume  of  the  age 
which  I  have  attempted  to  paint.  May  it  be  (what  is 
far  more  important)  a  just  representation  of  the  human 
passions  and  the  human  heart,  whose  elements  in  all 
ages  are  the  same  ! 


PREFACE 

TO  THE  EDITION  OF  1850 

This  work  has  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  so  general 
a  favourite  with  the  Public,  that  the  Author  is  spared 
the  task  of  obtruding  any  comments  in  its  vindication 
from  adverse  criticism.  The  profound  scholarship  of 
German  criticism,  which  has  given  so  minute  an  at- 
tention to  the  domestic  life  of  the  ancients,  has  suffi- 
ciently testified  to  the  general  fidelity  with  which  the 
manners,  habits,  and  customs,  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Pompeii  have  been  described  in  these  pages.  And 
writing  the  work  almost  on  the  spot,  and  amidst  a 
population  that  still  preserve  a  strong  family  likeness 
to  their  classic  forefathers,  I  could  scarcely  fail  to 
catch  something  of  those  living  colours  which  mere 
book-study  alone  would  not  have  sufficed  to  bestow. 
It  is,  I  suspect,  to  this  accidental  advantage  that  this 
work  is  principally  indebted  for  a  greater  popularity 
than  has  hitherto  attended  the  attempts  of  scholars  to 
create  an  interest,  by  fictitious  narrative,  in  the  man- 
ners and  persons  of  a  classic  age.  Perhaps,  too,  the 
writers  I  allude  to,  and  of  whose  labours  I  would  speak 
with  the  highest  respect,  did  not  sufficiently  remember, 
that  in  works  of  imagination,  the  description  of  man- 
ners, however  important  as  an  accessory,  must  still  be 
subordinate  to  the  vital  elements  of  interest,  viz.,  plot, 
character,  and  passion.  And  in  reviving  the  ancient 
shadows,  they  have  rather  sought  occasion  to  display 
erudition,  than  to  show  how  the  human  heart  beats 
the  same,  whether  under  the  Grecian  tunic  or  the 
Roman  toga.  It  is  this,  indeed,  which  distinguishes 
the  imitators  of  classic  learning  from  the  classic  litera- 
ture itself.  For,  in  classic  literature,  there  is  no  want 


xviii  PREFACE 

of  movement  and  passion — of  all  the  more  animated 
elements  of  what  we  now  call  Romance.  Indeed,  ro- 
mance itself,  as  we  take  it  from  the  Middle  Ages, 
owes  much  to  Grecian  fable.  Many  of  the  adventures 
of  knight-errantry  are  borrowed  either  from  the  trials 
of  Ulysses,  or  the  achievements  of  Theseus,  and  while 
Homer,  yet  unrestored  to  his  throne  among  the  poets, 
was  only  known  to  the  literature  of  early  chivalry  in 
a  spurious  or  grotesque  form — the  genius  of  Gothic 
fiction  was  constructing  many  a  tale  for  Northern 
wonder  from  the  mutilated  fragments  of  the  divine  old 
tale-teller. 

Amongst  these  losses  of  the  past  which  we  have 
most  to  deplore  are  the  old  novels  or  romances  for 
which  Miletus  was  famous.  But,  judging  from  all 
else  of  Greek  literature  that  is  left  to  us,  there  can  be 
little  doubt  that  they  were  well  fitted  to  sustain  the 
attention  of  lively  and  impatient  audiences  by  the 
same  arts  which  are  necessary  to  the  modern  tale- 
teller; that  they  could  not  have  failed  in  variety  of 
incident  and  surprises  of  ingenious  fancy ;  in  the  con- 
trasts of  character ;  and  least  of  all  in  the  delineations 
of  the  tender  passion,  which,  however  modified  in  its 
expression  by  differences  of  national  habits,  forms  the 
main  subject  of  human  interest,  in  all  the  multiform 
varieties  of  fictitious  narrative — from  the  Chinese  to 
the  Arab — from  the  Arab  to  the  Scandinavian — and 
which,  at  this  day,  animates  the  tab  of  many  an  itiner- 
ant Boccaccio,  gathering  his  spell-bound  listeners 
round  him,  on  sunny  evenings,  by  the  Sicilian  seas. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK   I 

CHAPTER   I 

PACK 

The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Pompeii i 

CHAPTER   II 

The  Blind  Flower-Girl,  and  the  Beauty  of  Fashion— The 
Athenian's  Confession — The  Reader's  Introduction  to 
Arbaces  of  Egypt 5 

CHAPTER   III 

•Parentage  of  Glaucus — Description  of  the  Houses  of  Pom- 
peii— A  Classic  Revel 19 

CHAPTER   IV 

The  Temple  of  Isis — Its  Priest — The  Character  of  Arbaces 
Develops  Itself 41 

CHAPTER   V 
More  of  the  Flower  Girl — The  Progress  of  Love      .        .    52 

CHAPTER   VI 

The  Fowler  Snares  again  the  Bird  that  had  just  Escaped, 
and  Sets  his  Nets  for  a  New  Victim  .  .  .  .62 

CHAPTER   VII      f 

The  Gay  Life  of  the  Pompeian  Lounger — A  Miniature 
Likeness  of  the  Roman  Baths 77 

CHAPTER   VIII 
Arbaces  Cogs  his  Dice  with  Pleasure,  and  Wins  the  Game    90 


xx  CONTENTS 

BOOK   II 
CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

"  A  Flash  House "  in   Pompeii — and  the  Gentlemen  of 
the  Classic  Ring 106 

CHAPTER   II 
Two  Worthies  118 

CHAPTER   III 

Glaucus  Makes  a  Purchase  that  Afterwards  Costs  him 
Dear 124 

CHAPTER   IV 
The  Rival  of  Glaucus  Presses  Onward  in  the  Race    .        .  132 

CHAPTER   V 
The  Poor  Tortoise — New  Changes  for  Nydia    .        .        .  147 

.   CHAPTER   VI 
The  Happy  Beauty  and  the  Blind  Slave      .        .        .        .154 

CHAPTER  VII 
lone  Entrapped — The  Mouse  Tries  to  Gnaw  the  Net .       .  161 

CHAPTER   VIII 

The  Solitude  and  Soliloquy  of  the  Egyptian — His  Char- 
acter Analysed 168 

CHAPTER   IX 

What  Becomes  of  lone  in  the  House  of  Arbaces — The 
First  Signal  of  the  Wrath  of  the  Dread  Foe       .        .  182 


\ 
CONTENTS  xxi 

BOOK   III 

CHAPTER   I 

PAGE 

The  Forum  of  the  Pompeians — The  First  Rude  Machinery 
by  which  the  New  Era  of  the  World  was  Wrought  .  196 

CHAPTER   II 
The  Noonday  Excursion  on  the  Campanian  Seas      .        .  204 

CHAPTER   III 
The  Congregation 216 

CHAPTER   IV 
The  Stream  of  Love  Runs  On — Whither?         .       .       .  227 

CHAPTER  V 

Nydia  Encounters  Julia — Interview  with  the  Heathen  Sis- 
ter and  Converted  Brother — An  Athenian's  Notion  of 
Christianity 241 

CHAPTER   VI 
The  Porter— The  Girl— And  the  Gladiator         .        .        .249 

CHAPTER   VII 

The  Dressing-Room  of  a  Pompeian  Beauty — Important 
Conversation  between  Julia  and  Nydia  ....  257 

CHAPTER   VIII 
Julia  Seeks  Arbaces— The  Result  of  that  Interview  .        .  265 

CHAPTER    IX 
A  Storm  in  the  South— The  Witch's  Cavern    .        .        .272 


xxii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER    X 

PAGB 

The  Lord  of  the  Burning  ,  Belt  and  his  Minion — Fate 
Writes  her  Prophecy  in  Red  Letters,  but  Who  Shall 
Read  Them?  .  .  .  .  .  .*  .  .  .  .286 

CHAPTER   XI 

Progress  of  Events — The  Plot  Thickens — The  Web  is 
Woven,  but  the  Net  Changes  Hands  ....  296 


BOOK    IV 

CHAPTER   I 

Reflections  on  the  Zeal  of  the  Early  Christians — Two  Men 
Come  to  a  Perilous  Resolve — Walls  Have  Ears — par- 
ticularly Sacred  Walls 307 

CHAPTER   II 

A  Classic  Host,  Cook,  and  Kitchen  —  Apsecides  Seeks 
lone — Their  Conversation 311 

CHAPTER    III 
A  Fashionable  Party  and  a  Dinner  a  la  Mode  in  Pompeii  325 

CHAPTER    IV 
The  Story  Halts  for  a  Moment  at  an  Episode   .        .        .  347 

CHAPTER   V 
The  Philtre— Its  Effect 352 

CHAPTER   VI 

A  Reunion  of  Different  Actors  —  Streams  that  Flowed 
Apparently  Apart  Rush  into  One  Gulf  .  .  .  358 

CHAPTER   VII 

In  which  the  Reader  Learns  the  Condition  of  Glaucus — 
Friendship  Tested — Enmity  Softened — Love  the  Same 
— because  the  One  Loving  is  Blind  ....  372 


CONTENTS  xxiii 

CHAPTER  VIII 

PAGB 

A  Classic  Funeral 384 

CHAPTER   IX 
In  which  an  Adventure  Happens  to  lone    .        .        ...  394 

CHAPTER    X 

What  Becomes  of  Nydia  in  the  House  of  Arbaces — The 
Egyptian  Feels  Compassion  for  Glaucus — Compassion 
is  Often  a  very  Useless  Visitor  to  the  Guilty  .  .  397 

CHAPTER   XI 
Nydia  Affects  the  Sorceress  .        .        .        .  .        .  403 

CHAPTER   XII 
A  Wasp  Ventures  into  the  Spider's  Web   ....  408 

CHAPTER    XIII 

The  Slave  Consults  the  Oracle— They  who  Blind  Them- 
selves the  Blind  may  Fool — Two  New  Prisoners  Made 
in  One  Night 413 

CHAPTER   XIV 
Nydia  Accosts  Calenus 422 

CHAPTER    XV 

Arbaces  and  lone — Nydia  Gains  the  Garden — Will  She 
Escape  and  Save  the  Athenian? 425 

CHAPTER   XVI 

The  Sorrow  of  Boon  Companions  for  our  Afflictions — 
The  Dungeon  and  its  Victims 435 

CHAPTER   XVII 
A  Change  for  Glaucus 444 


xxiv  CONTENTS 

BOOK  V 
CHAPTER   I 

PAGB 

The  Dream  of  Arbaces — A  Visitor  and  a  Warning  to  the 
Egyptian .        .        .        .464 

CHAPTER    II 
The  Amphitheatre  .        .        .        .    • 476 

CHAPTER   III 
Sallust  and  Nydia's  Letter 496 

CHAPTER   IV 
The  Amphitheatre  Once  More 498 

CHAPTER   V 

The  Cell  of  the  Prisoner  and  the  Den  of  the  Dead— Grief 
Unconscious  of  Horror 50£j 

CHAPTER   VI 

Calenus  and  Burbo — Diomed  and  Clodius — The  Girl  of 
the  Amphitheatre  and  Julia 514 

CHAPTER   VII 
The  Progress  of  the  Destruction 520 

CHAPTER   VIII 
Arbaces  Encounters  Glaucus  and  lone         ....  526 

CHAPTER   IX 

The  Despair  of  the  Lovers — The  Condition  of  the  Mul- 
titude   530 

CHAPTER    X 
The  Next  Morning— The  Fate  of  Nydia    .        .        .        .535 

CHAPTER   THE  LAST 
Wherein  All  Things  Cease 538 

NOTES   .  ...  545 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  So  you  are  returned  ! "  said  she  in  a  low  voice.      Frontispiece 

Facing 
page 

They  both  gazed  on  the  mountain  as  lone  said  these  words.    60 


Arbaces  the  Egyptian 266 

In  the  Spoliarium 512 


THE    LAST   DAYS   OF 
POMPEII 

BOOK   I 

Quid  sit  futurum  eras,  fuge  quserere;  et 
Quern  Fors  dierum  cumque  dabit,  lucro 
Adpone;  nee  dulces  amores 
Sperne,  puer,  neque  tu  choreas^ 

HOR.  lib.  i.  od.  ix. 

The  future  in  the  morrow  shun  to  seek; 
Each  day  that  Fate  shall  give  thee,  count  as  gain; — 
Nor  spurn,  O  youth,  sweet  loves, 
Nor  choral  dance,  and  song. 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    POMPEII. 

"  Ho,  Diomed,  well  met !  Do  you  sup  with  Glaucus 
to-night  ?  "  said  a  young  man  of  small  stature,  who 
wore  his  tunic  in  those  loose  and  effeminate  folds 
which  proved  him  to  be  a  gentleman  and  a  coxcomb. 

"  Alas,  no !  dear  Clodius ;  he  has  not  invited  me," 
replied  Diomed,  a  man  of  portly  frame  and  of  middle 
age.  "  By  Pollux,  a  scurvy  trick !  for  they  say  his 
suppers  are  the  best  in  Pompeii." 

"  Pretty  well — though  there  is  never  enough  of  wine 
for  me.     It  is  not  the  old  Greek  blood  that  flows  in  his 
veins,  for  he  pretends  that  wine  makes  him  dull  the 
next  morning." 
i 


2  THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  There  may  be  another  reason  for  that  thrift,"  said 
Diomed,  raising  his  brows.  "  With  all  his  conceit  and 
extravagance  he  is  not  so  rich,  I  fancy,  as  he  affects 
to  be,  and  perhaps  loves  to  save  his  amphorae  better 
than  his  wit." 

"  An  additional  reason  for  supping  with  him  while 
the  sesterces  last.  Next  year,  Diomed,  we  must  find 
another  Glaucus." 

"  He  is  fond  of  the  dice,  too,  I  hear." 

"  He  is  fond  of  every  pleasure ;  and  while  he  likes 
the  pleasure  of  giving  suppers,  we  are  all  fond  of 
him." 

"  Ha,  ha,  Clodius,  that  is  well  said !  Have  you  ever 
seen  my  wine-cellars,  by  the  by  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,  my  good  Diomed." 

"  Well,  you  must  sup  with  me  some  evening ;  I  have 
tolerable  muraenae *  in  my  reservoir,  and  I  will  ask 
Pansa  the  aedile  to  meet  you." 

"  O,  no  state  with  me ! — Persicos  odi  apparatus,  I  am 
easily  contented.  Well,  the  day  wanes;  I  am  for  the 
baths — and  you " 

"  To  the  quaestor — business  of  state — afterwards  to 
the  temple  of  Isis.  Vale!  " 

"  An  ostentatious,  bustling,  ill-bred  fellow,"  mut- 
tered Clodius  to  himself,  as  he  sauntered  slowly  away. 
"  He  thinks  with  his  feasts  and  his  wine-cellars  to 
make  us  forget  that  he  is  the  son  of  a  freedman : — 
and  so  he  will,  when  we  do  him  the  honour  of  win- 
ning his  money ;  these  rich  plebeians  are  a  harvest  for 
us  spendthrift  nobles." 

Thus  soliloquising,  Clodius  arrived  in  the  Via  Do- 
mitiana,  which  was  crowded  with  passengers  and 
chariots,  and  exhibited  all  that  gay  and  animated  ex- 
1  Murcena — lampreys. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  3 

uberance  of  life  and  motion  which  we  find  at  this  day 
in  the  streets  of  Naples. 

The  bells  of  the  cars  as  they  rapidly  glided  by  each 
other  jingled  merrily  on  the  ear,  and  Clodius  with 
smiles  or  nods  claimed  familiar  acquaintance  with 
whatever  equipage  was  most  elegant  or  fantastic:  in 
fact,  no  idler  was  better  known  in  Pompeii. 

"  What,  Clodius !  and  how  have  you  slept  on  your 
good  fortune  ?  "  cried,  in  a  pleasant  and  musical  voice, 
a  young  man  in  a  chariot  of  the  most  fastidious  and 
graceful  fashion.  Upon  its  surface  of  bronze  were 
elaborately  wrought,  in  the  still  exquisite  workman- 
ship of  Greece,  reliefs  of  the  Olympian  games :  the  two 
horses  that  drew  the  car  were  of  the  rarest  breed  of 
Parthia;  their  slender  limbs  seemed  to  disdain  the 
ground  and  court  the  air,  and  yet  at  the  slightest  touch 
of  the  charioteer,  who  stood  behind  the  young  owner 
of  the  equipage,  they  paused,  motionless,  as  if  sudden- 
ly transformed  into  stone — lifeless,  but  lifelike,  as  one 
of  the  breathing  wonders  of  Praxiteles.  The  owner 
himself  was  of  that  slender  and  beautiful  symmetry 
from  which  the  sculptors  of  Athens  drew  their  mod- 
els ;  his  Grecian  origin  betrayed  itself  in  his  light  but 
clustering  locks,  and  the  perfect  harmony  of  his  feat- 
ures. He  wore  no  toga,  which  in  the  time  of  the  em- 
perors had  indeed  ceased  to  be  the  general  distinction 
of  the  Romans,  and  was  especially  ridiculed  by  the 
pretenders  to  fashion ;  but  his  tunic  glowed  in  the  rich- 
est hues  of  the  Tyrian  dye,  and  the  fibulae,  or  buckles, 
by  which  it  was  fastened,  sparkled  with  emeralds: 
around  his  neck  was  a  chain  of  gold,  which  in  the  mid- 
dle of  his  breast  twisted  itself  into  the  form  of  a  ser- 
pent's head,  from  the  mouth  of  which  hung  pendent 
a  large  signet  ring  of  elaborate  and  most  exquisite 


4  THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

workmanship ;  the  sleeves  of  the  tunic  were  loose,  and 
fringed  at  the  hand  with  gold:  and  across  the  waist 
a  girdle  wrought  in  arabesque  design,  and  of  the  same 
material  as  the  fringe,  served  in  lieu  of  pockets  for 
the  receptacle  of  the  handkerchief  and  the  purse,  the 
stilus  and  the  tablets. 

"  My  dear  Glaucus !  "  said  Clodius,  "  I  rejoice  to  see 
that  your  losses  have  so  little  affected  your  mien. 
Why,  you  seem  as  if  you  had  been  inspired  by  Apollo, 
and  your  face  shines  with  happiness  like  a  glory ;  any 
one  might  take  you  for  the  winner,  and  me  for  the 
loser." 

"  And  what  is  there  in  the  loss  or  gain  of  those  dull 
pieces  of  metal  that  should  change  our  spirit,  my 
Clodius  ?  By  Venus !  while  yet  young,  we  can  cover 
our  full  locks  with  chaplets — while  yet  the  cithara 
sounds  on  unsated  ears — while  yet  the  smile  of  Lydia 
or  of  Chloe  flashes  over  our  veins  in  which  the  blood 
runs  so  swiftly,  so  long  shall  we  find  delight  in  the 
sunny  air,  and  make  bald  time  itself  but  the  treasurer 
of  our  joys.  You  sup  with  me  to-night,  you  know." 

"  Who  ever  forgets  the  invitation  of  Glaucus !  " 

"  But  which  way  go  you  now  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  thought  of  visiting  the  baths :  but  it  wants 
yet  an  hour  to  the  usual  time." 

"  Well,  I  will  dismiss  my  chariot,  and  go  with  you. 
So,  so,  my  Phylias,"  stroking  the  horse  nearest  to  him, 
which  by  a  low  neigh  and  with  backward  ears,  play- 
fully acknowledged  the  courtesy :  "  a  holiday  for  you 
to-day.  Is  he  not  handsome,  Clodius?  " 

"  Worthy  of  Phcebus,"  returned  the  noble  parasite, 
— "  or  of  Glaucus." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  5 

CHAPTER  II  . 

THE  BLIND  FLOWER-GIRL,  AND  THE  BEAUTY  OF  FASHION. 
— THE  ATHENIAN'S  CONFESSION. — THE  READER'S  IN- 
TRODUCTION TO  ARBACES  OF  EGYPT. 

Talking  lightly  on  a  thousand  matters,  the  two 
young  men  sauntered  through  the  streets:  they  were 
now  in  that  quarter  which  was  filled  with  the  gayest 
shops,  their  open  interiors  all  and  each  radiant  with 
the  gaudy  yet  harmonious  colours  of  frescoes,  incon- 
ceivably varied  in  fancy  and  design.  The  sparkling 
fountains  that  at  every  vista  threw  upwards  their 
grateful  spray  in  the  summer  air ;  the  crowd  of  passen- 
gers, or  rather  loiterers.,  mostly  clad  in  robes  of  the 
Tyrian  dye ;  the  gay  groups  collected  round  each  more 
attractive  shop ;  the  slaves  passing  to  and  fro  with 
buckets  of  bronze,  cast  in  the  most  graceful  shapes, 
and  borne  upon  their  heads  ;  the  country  girls  stationed 
at  frequent  intervals  with  baskets  of  blushing  fruit, 
and  flowers  more  alluring  to  the  ancient  Italians  than 
to  their  descendants  (with  whom,  indeed,  "  latet  anguis 
in  herba,"  a  disease  seems  lurking  in  every  violet  and 
rose),1  the  numerous  haunts  which  fulfilled  with  that 
idle  people  the  office  of  cafes  and  clubs  at  this  day ;  the 
shops,  where  on  shelves  of  marble  were  ranged  the 
vases  of  wine  and  oil,  and  before  whose  thresholds, 
seats,  protected  from  the  sun  by  a  purple  awning,  in- 
vited the  weary  to  rest  and  the  indolent  to  lounge — 
made  a  scene  of  such  glowing  and  vivacious  excitement 
as  might  well  give  the  Athenian  spirit  of  Glaucus  an 
excuse  for  its  susceptibility  to  joy. 

"  Talk  to  me  no  more  of  Rome,"  said  he  to  Clodius. 
1  See  note  (a)  at  the  end. 


6  THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Pleasure  is  too  stately  and  ponderous  in  those  mighty 
walls :  even  in  the  precincts  of  the  court — even  in  the 
Golden  House  of  Nero,  and  the  incipient  glories  of  the 
palace  of  Titus,  there  is  a  certain  dulness  of  magnifi- 
cence— the  eye  aches — the  spirit  is  wearied;  besides, 
my  Clodius,  we  are  discontented  when  we  compare  the 
enormous  luxury  and  wealth  of  others  with  the  medi- 
ocrity of  our  own  state.  But  here  we  surrender  our- 
selves easily  to  pleasure,  and  we  have  the  brilliancy  of 
luxury  without  the  lassitude  of  its  pomp." 

"  It  was  from  that  feeling  that  you  chose  your  sum- 
mer retreat  at  Pompeii  ?  " 

"  It  was.  I  prefer  it  to  Baiae :  I  grant  the  charms 
of  the  latter,  but  I  love  not  the  pedants  who  resort 
there,  and  who  seem  to  weigh  out  their  pleasures  by  the 
drachm." 

"  Yet  you  are  fond  of  the  learned,  too ;  and  as  for 
poetry,  why  your  house  is  literally  eloquent  with 
^Eschylus  and  Homer,  the  epic  and  the  drama." 

"  Yes,  but  those  Romans  who  mimic  my  Athenian 
ancestors  do  everything  so  heavily.  Even  in  the  chase 
they  make  their  slaves  carry  Plato  with  them ;  and 
whenever  the  boar  is  lost,  out  they  take  their  books 
and  their  papyrus,  in  order  not  to  lose  their  time  too. 
When  the  dancing-girls  swim  before  them  in  all  the 
blandishment  of  Persian  manners,  some  drone  of  a 
freedman,  with  a  face  of  stone,  reads  them  a  section 
of  Cicero  De  Officiis.  Unskilful  pharmacists!  pleas- 
ure and  study  are  not  elements  to  be  thus  mixed  to- 
gether— they  must  be  enjoyed  separately :  the  Romans 
lose  both  by  this  pragmatical  affectation  of  refinement, 
and  prove  that  they  have  no  souls  for  either.  Oh,  my 
Clodius,  how  little  your  countrymen  know  of  the  true 
versatility  of  a  Pericles,  of  the  true  witcheries  of  an 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  7 

Aspasia !  It  was  but  the  other  day  that  I  paid  a  visit 
to  Pliny ;  he  was  sitting  in  his  summer-house  writing, 
while  an  unfortunate  slave  played  on  the  tibia.  His 
nephew  (oh!  whip  me  such  philosophical  coxcombs!) 
was  reading  Thucydides'  description  of  the  plague,  and 
nodding  his  conceited  little  head  in  time  to  the  music, 
while  his  lips  were  repeating  all  the  loathsome  details 
of  that  terrible  delineation.  The  puppy  saw  nothing 
incongruous  in  learning  at  the  same  time  a  ditty  of 
love  and  a  description  of  the  plague." 

"  Why,  they  are  much  the  same  thing,"  said  Clodius. 

"  So  I  told  him,  in  excuse  for  his  coxcombry ; — but 
my  youth  stared  me  rebukingly  in  the  face,  without 
taking  the  jest,  and  answered,  that  it  was  only  the  in- 
sensate ear  that  the  music  pleased,  whereas  the  book 
(the  description  of  the  plague,  mind  you!)  elevated 
the  heart.  '  Ah ! '  quoth  the  fat  uncle,  wheezing,  '  my 
boy  is  quite  an  Athenian,  always  mixing  the  utile  with 
the  duke.'  O  Minerva,,  how  I  laughed  in  my  sleeve! 
While  I  was  there,  they  came  to  tell  the  boy-sophist 
that  his  favourite  freedman  was  just  dead  of  a  fever. 
'  Inexorable  death ! '  cried  he  ; — '  get  me  my  Horace. 
How  beautifully  the  sweet  poet  consoles  us  for  these 
misfortunes ! '  Oh,  can  these  men  love,  my  Clodius  ? 
Scarcely  even  with  the  senses.  How  rarely  a  Roman 
has  a  heart !  He  is  but  the  mechanism  of  genius — he 
wants  its  bones  and  flesh." 

Though  Clodius  was  secretly  a  little  sore  at  these 
remarks  on  his  countrymen,  he  affected  to  sympathise 
with  his  friend,  partly  because  he  was  by  nature  a 
parasite,  and  partly  because  it  was  the  fashion  among 
the  dissolute  Romans  to  affect  a  little  contempt  for  the 
very  birth  which,  in  reality,  made  them  so  arrogant; 
it  was  the  mode  to  imitate  the  Greeks,  and  yet  to  laugh 
at  their  own  clumsy  imitation. 


8  THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Thus  conversing,  their  steps  were  arrested  by  a 
crowd  gathered  round  an  open  space  where  three 
streets  met;  and,  just  where  the  porticoes  of  a  light 
and  graceful  temple  threw  their  shade,  there  stood  a 
young  girl,  with  a  flower-basket  on  her  right  arm,  and 
a  small  three-stringed  instrument  of  music  in  the  left 
hand,  to  whose  low  and  soft  tones  she  was  modulating 
a  wild  and  half-barbaric  air.  At  every  pause  in  the 
music,  she  gracefully  waved  her  flower-basket  round, 
inviting  the  loiterers  to  buy — and  many  a  sesterce  was 
showered  into  the  basket,  either  in  compliment  to  the 
music  or  in  compassion  to  the  songstress — for  she  was 
blind. 

"  It  is  my  poor  Thessalian,"  said  Glaucus,  stopping ; 
"  I  have  not  seen  her  since  my  return  to  Pompeii. 
Hush!  her  voice  is  sweet:  let  us  listen." 

THE   BLIND   FLOWER-GIRL'S    SONG 


"  Buy  my  flowers — O  buy — I  pray  ! 

The  blind  girl  comes  from  afar; 
If  the  earth  be  as  fair  as  I  hear  them  say, 

These  flowers  her  children  are ! 
Do  they  her  beauty  keep? 

They  are  fresh  from  her  lap,  I  know; 
For  I  caught  them  fast  asleep 

In  her  arms  an  hour  ago. 

With  the  air  which  is  her  breath — 

Her  soft  and  delicate  breath — 
Over  them  murmuring  low ! 

On  their  lips  her  sweet  kiss  lingers  yet, 
And  their  cheeks  with  her  tender  tears  are  wet. 
For  she  weeps — that  gentle  mother  weeps — 
(As  morn  and  night  her  watch  she  keeps, 
With  a  yearning  heart  and  a  passionate  care) 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  9 

To  see  the  young  things  grow  so  fair; 
She  weeps — for  love  she  weeps; 
And  the  dews  are  the"  tears,  she  weeps 
From  the  well  of  a  mother's  love ! 

ii. 

Ye  have  a  world  of  light, 

Where  love  in, the  loved  rejoices; 
But  the  blind  girl's  home  is  the  House  of  Night, 

And  its  beings  are  empty  voices. 

As  one  in  the  realm  below, 
I  stand  by  the  streams  of  woe ! 
I  hear  the  vain  shadows  glide, 
I  feel  their  soft  breath  at  my  side, 

And  I  thirst  the  loved  forms  to  see, 
And  I  stretch  my  fond  arms  around 
And  I  catch  but  a  shapeless  sound, 

For  the  living  are  ghosts  to  me. 

Come  buy — come  buy  ! — 
Hark !  how  the  sweet  things  sigh 
(For  they  have  a  voice  like  ours), 
'  The  breath  of  the  blind  girl  closes 
The  leaves  of  the  saddening  roses — 
We  are  tender,  we  sons  of  light, 
We  shrink  from  this  child  of  night, 
From  the  grasp  of  the  blind  girl  free  us; 
We  yearn  for  the  eyes  that  see  us — 
We  are  for  night  too  gay, 
In  your  eyes  we  behold  the  day — 
O  buy — O  buy  the  flowers ! ' ' 

"  I  must  have  yon  bunch  of  violets,  sweet  Nydia," 
said  Glaucus,  pressing  through  the  crowd,  and  drop- 
ping a  handful  of  small  coins  into  the  basket ;  "  your 
voice  is  more  charming  than  ever." 

The  blind  girl  started  forward  as  she  heard  the 
Athenian's  voice ;  then  as  suddenly  paused,  while  the 
blood  rushed  violently  over  neck,  cheek,  and  temples. 


10          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  So  you  are  returned !  "  said  she,  in  a  low  voice ; 
and  then  repeated  half  to  herself,  "  Glaucus  is  re- 
turned !  " 

"  Yes,  child,  I  have  not  been  at  Pompeii  above  a  few 
days.  My  garden  wants  your  care,  as  before;  you 
will  visit  it,  I  trust,  to-morrow.  And  mind,  no  gar- 
lands at  my  house  shall  be  woven  by  any  hands  but 
those  of  the  pretty  Nydia." 

Nydia  smiled  joyously,  but  did  not  answer;  and 
Glaucus,  placing  in  his  breast  the  violets  he  had  se- 
lected, turned  gaily  and  carelessly  from  the  crowd. 

"  So  she  is  a  sort  of  client  of  yours,  this  child  ?  "  said 
Clodius. 

"  Ay — does  she  not  sing  prettily  ?  She  interests  me, 
the  poor  slave!  Besides,  she  is  from  the  land  of  the 
Gods'  hill — Olympus  frowned  upon  her  cradle — she  is 
of  Thessaly." 

"  The  witches'  country." 

"  True :  but  for  my  part  I  find  every  woman  a  witch  ; 
and  at  Pompeii,  by  Venus !  the  very  air  seems  to  have 
taken  a  love-philtre,  so  handsome  does  every  face  with- 
out a  beard  seem  in  my  eyes." 

"  And  lo !  one  of  the  handsomest  in  Pompeii,  old 
Diomed's  daughter,  the  rich  Julia !  "  said  Clodius,  as 
a  young  lady,  her  face  covered  by  her  veil,  and  at- 
tended by  two  female  slaves,  approached  them,  on  her 
way  to  the  baths. 

"  Fair  Julia,  we  salute  thee !  "  said  Clodius. 

Julia  partly  raised  her  veil,  so  as  with  some  coquetry 
to  display  a  bold  Roman  profile,  a  full  dark  bright  eye, 
and  a  cheek  over  whose  natural  olive  art  shed  a  fairer 
and  softer  rose. 

"  And  Glaucus,  too,  is  returned !  "  said  she,  glancing 
meaningly  at  the  Athenian.  "  Has  he  forgotten,"  she 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          11 

added,  in  a  half-whisper,  "  his  friends  of  the  last 
year?" 

"  Beautiful  Julia !  even  Lethe  itself,  if  it  disappear  in 
one  part  of  the  earth,  rises  again  in  another.  Jupiter 
does  not  allow  us  ever  to  forget  for  more  than  a  mo- 
ment ;  but  Venus,  more  harsh  still,  vouchsafes  not  even 
a  moment's  oblivion." 

"  Glaucus  is  never  at  a  loss  for  fair  words." 

"  Who  is,  when  the  object  of  them  is  so  fair?  " 

"  We  shall  see  you  both  at  my  father's  villa  soon," 
said  Julia,  turning  to  Clodius. 

"  We  will  mark  the  day  in  which  we  visit  you  with 
a  white  stone,"  answered  the  gamester. 

Julia  dropped  her  veil,  but  slowly,  so  that  her  last 
glance  rested  on  the  Athenian  with  affected  timidity 
and  real  boldness;  the  glance  bespoke  tenderness  and 
reproach. 

The  friends  passed  on. 

"  Julia  is  certainly  handsome,"  said  Glaucus. 

"  And  last  year  you  would  have  made  that  confes- 
sion in  a  warmer  tone." 

"  True ;  I  was  dazzled  at  the  first  sight,  and  mistook 
for  a  gem  that  which  was  but  an  artful  imitation." 

"  Nay,"  returned  Clodius,  "  all  women  are  the  same 
at  heart.  Happy  he  who  weds  a  handsome  face  and 
a  large  dower.  What  more  can  he  desire  ?  " 

Glaucus  sighed. 

There  were  now  in  a  street  less  crowded  than  the 
rest,  at  the  end  of  which  they  beheld  that  broad  and 
most  lovely  sea,  which  upon  those  delicious  coasts 
seems  to  have  renounced  its  prerogative  of  terror, — 
so  soft  are  the  crisping  winds  that  hover  around  its 
bosom,  so  glowing  and  so  various  are  the  hues  which 
it  takes  from  the  rosy  clouds,  so  fragrant  are  the  per- 


12  THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

fumes  which  the  breezes  from  the  land  scatter  over  its 
depths.  From  such  a  sea  might  you  well  believe  that 
Aphrodite  rose  to  take  the  empire  of  the  earth. 

"  It  is  still  early  for  the  bath,"  said  the  Greek,  who 
was  the  creature  of  every  poetical  impulse ;  "  let  us 
wander  from  the  crowded  city,  and  look  upon  the  sea 
while  the  noon  yet  laughs  along  its  billows." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Clodius ;  "  and  the  bay, 
too,  is  always  the  most  animated  part  of  the  city." 

Pompeii  was  the  miniature  of  the  civilisation  of  that 
age.  Within  the  narrow  compass  of  its  walls  was  con- 
tained, as  it  were,  a  specimen  of  every  gift  which  lux- 
ury offered  to  power.  In  its  minute  but  glittering 
shops,  its  tiny  palaces,  its  baths,  its  forum,  its  theatre, 
its  circus — in  the  energy  yet  corruption,  in  the  refine- 
ment yet  the  vice,  of  its  people,  you  beheld  a  model 
of  the  whole  empire.  It  was  a  toy,  a  plaything,  a  show- 
box,  in  which  the  gods  seemed  pleased  to  keep  the  rep- 
resentation of  the  great  monarchy  of  earth,  and  which 
they  afterwards  hid  from  time,  to  the  wonder  of  pos- 
terity;— the  moral  of  the  maxim,  that  under  the  sun 
there  is  nothing  new. 

Crowded  in  the  glassy  bay  were  the  vessels  of  com- 
merce and  the  gilded  galleys  for  the  pleasure  of  the 
rich  citizens.  The  boats  of  the  fishermen  glided  rapid- 
ly to  and  fro;  and  afar  off  you  saw  the  tall  masts  of 
the  fleet  under  the  command  of  Pliny.  Upon  the  shore 
sat  a  Sicilian,  who.,  with  vehement  gestures  and  flexile 
features,  was  narrating  to  a  group  of  fishermen  and 
peasants  a  strange  tale  of  shipwrecked  mariners  and 
friendly  dolphins: — just  as  at  this  day,  in  the  modern 
neighbourhood,  you  may  hear  upon  the  Mole  of  Na- 
ples. 

Drawing  his  comrade  from  the  crowd,  the  Greek  bent 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  13 

his  steps  towards  a  solitary  part  of  the  beach,  and  the 
two  friends,  seated  on  a  small  crag  which  rose  amidst 
the  smooth  pebbles,  inhaled  the  voluptuous  and  cooling 
breeze,  which  dancing  over  the  waters,  kept  music  with 
its  invisible  feet.  There  was,  perhaps,  something  in 
the  scene  that  invited  them  to  silence  and  reverie. 
Clodius,  shading  his  eyes  from  the  burning  sky,  was 
calculating  the  gains  of  the  last  week ;  and  the  Greek, 
leaning  upon  his  hands,  and  shrinking  not  from  that 
sun, — his  nation's  tutelary  deity, — with  whose  fluent 
light  of  poesy,  and  joy,  and  love,  his  own  veins  were 
filled,  gazed  upon  the  broad  expanse,  and  envied,  per- 
haps, every  wind  that  bent  its  pinions  towards  the 
shores  of  Greece. 

"  Tell  me,  Clodius,"  said  the  Greek  at  last,  "  hast 
thou  ever  been  in  love  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  often." 

"  He  who  has  loved  often,"  answered  Glaucus,  "  has 
loved  never.  There  is  but  one  Eros,  though  there  are 
many  counterfeits  of  him." 

"  The  counterfeits  are  not  bad  little  gods,  upon  the 
whole,"  answered  Clodius. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  returned  the  Greek.  "  I  adore 
even  the  shadow  of  Love;  but  I  adore  himself  yet 
more." 

"  Art  thou,  then,  soberly  and  earnestly  in  love  ?  Hast 
thou  that  feeling  which  the  poets  describe — a  feeling 
that  makes  us  neglect  our  suppers,  forswear  the  the- 
atre, and  write  elegies?  I  should  never  have  thought 
it.  You  dissemble  well." 

"  I  am  not  far  gone  enough  for  that,"  returned 
Glaucus,  smiling,  "  or  rather  I  say  with  Tibullus, — 

'  He  whom  Love  rules,  where'er  his  path  may  be, 
Walks  safe  and  sacred.' 


14          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

In  fact,  I  am  not  in  love ;  but  I  could  be  if  there  were 
but  occasion  to  see  the  object.  Eros  would  light  his 
torch,  but  the  priests  have  given  him  no  oil." 

"Shall  I  guess  the  object? — Is  it  not  Diomed's 
daughter  ?  She  adores  you, -and  does  not  affect  to  con- 
ceal it;  and,  by  Hercules,  I  say  again  and  again,  she 
is  both  handsome  and  rich.  She  will  bind  the  door- 
posts of  her  husband  with  golden  fillets." 

"  No;  I  do  not  desire  to  sell  myself.  Diomed's 
daughter  is  handsome,  I  grant:  and  at  one  time,  had 
she  not  been  the  grandchild  of  a  freedman,  I  might 

have Yet  no — she  carries  all  her  beauty  in  her 

face;  her  manners  are  not  maidenlike,  and  her  mind 
knows  no  culture  save  that  of  pleasure." 

"  You  are  ungrateful.  Tell  me,  then,  who  is  the 
fortunate  virgin !  " 

"  You  shall  hear,  my  Clodius.  Several  months  ago 
I  was  sojourning  at  Neapolis,1  a  city  utterly  to  my  own 
heart,  for  it  still  retains  the  manners  and  stamp  of  its 
Grecian  origin, — and  it  yet  merits  the  name  of  Parthe- 
nope,  from  its  delicious  air  and  its  beautiful  shores. 
One  day  I  entered  the  temple  of  Minerva,  to  offer  up 
my  prayers,  not  for  myself  more  than  for  the  city  on 
which  Pallas  smiles  no  longer.  The  temple  was  empty 
and  deserted.  The  recollections  of  Athens  crowded 
'  fast  and  meltingly  upon  me :  imagining  myself  still 
alone  in  the  temple,  and  absorbed  in  the  earnestness 
of  my  devotion,  my  prayer  gushed  from  my  heart  to 
my  lips,  and  I  wept  as  I  prayed.  I  was  startled  in  the 
midst  of  my  devotions,  however,  by  a  deep  sigh ;  I 
turned  suddenly  round,  and  just  behind  me  was  a  fe- 
male. She  had  raised  her  veil  also  in  prayer:  and 
when  our  eyes  met,  methought  a  celestial  ray  shot  from 
1  Naples. 


,      THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  15 

those  dark  and  shining  orbs  at  once  into  my  soul. 
Never,  my  Clodius,  have  I  seen  mortal  face  more  ex- 
quisitely moulded:  a  certain  melancholy  softened 
and  yet  elevated  its  expression :  that  unutterable  some- 
thing which  springs  from  the  soul,  and  which  our 
sculptors  have  imparted  to  the  aspect  of  Psyche,  gave 
her  beauty  I  know  not  what  of  divine  and  noble :  tears 
were  rolling  down  her  eyes.  I  guessed  at  once  that 
she  was  also  of  Athenian  lineage;  and  that  in  my 
prayer  for  Athens  her  heart  had  responded  to  mine. 
I  spoke  to  her,  though  with  a  faltering  voice — '  Art 
thou  not,  too,  Athenian  ?  '  said  I,  '  O  beautiful  virgin ! ' 
At  the  sound  of  my  voice  she  blushed,  and  half  drew 
her  veil  across  her  face.  '  My  forefathers'  ashes,'  said 
she,  '  repose  by  the  waters  of  Ilissus :  my  birth  is  of 
Neapolis ;  but  my  heart,  as  my  lineage  is  Athenian.' 
'  Let  us,  then/  said  I,  '  make  our  offerings  together :  ' 
and,  as  the  priest  now  appeared,  we  stood  side  by  side, 
while  we  followed  the  priest  in  his  ceremonial  prayer ; 
together  we  touched  the  knees  of  the  goddess — to- 
gether we  laid  our  olive  garlands  on  the  altar.  I  felt 
a  strange  emotion  of  almost  sacred  tenderness  at  this 
companionship.  We,  strangers  from  a  far  and  fallen 
land,  stood  together  and  alone  in  that  temple  of  our 
country's  deity :  was  it  not  natural  that  my  heart  should 
yearn  to  my  countrywoman,  for  so  I  might  surely  call 
her  ?  I  felt  as  if  I  had  known  her  for  years ;  and  that 
simple  rite  seemed,  as  by  a  miracle,  to  operate  on  the 
sympathies  and  ties  of  time.  Silently  we  left  the  tem- 
ple, and  I  was  about  to  ask  her  where  she  dwelt,  and 
if  I  might  be  permitted  to  visit  her,  when  a  youth,  in 
whose  features  there  was  some  kindred  resemblance  to 
her  own,  and  who  stood  upon  the  steps  of  the  fane, 
took  her  by  the  hand.  She  turned  round  and  bade  me 


16          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

farewell.  The  crowd  separated  us :  I  saw  her  no  more. 
On  reaching  my  home  I  found  letters,  which  obliged 
me  to  set  out  for  Athens,  for  my  relations  threatened 
me  with  litigation  concerning  my  inheritance.  When 
that  suit  was  happily  over,  I  repaired  once  more  to 
Neapolis ;  I  instituted  inquiries  throughout  the  whole 
city,  I  could  discover  no  clue  of  my  lost  countrywoman, 
and,  hoping  to  lose  in  gaiety  all  remembrance  of  that 
beautiful  apparition,  I  hastened  to  plunge  myself 
amidst  the  luxuries  of  Pompeii.  This  is  all  my  history. 
I  do  not  love ;  but  I  remember  and  regret." 

As  Clodius  was  about  to  reply,  a  slow  and  stately 
step  approached  them,  and  at  the  sound  it  made 
amongst  the  pebbles,  each  turned,  and  each  recognised 
the  new-comer. 

It  was  a  man  who  had  scarcely  reached  his  fortieth 
year,  of  tall  stature,  and  of  a  thin  but  nervous  and 
sinewy  frame.  His  skin,  dark  and  bronzed,  betrayed 
his  Eastern  origin ;  and  his  features  had  something 
Greek  in  their  outline  (especially  in  the  chin,  the  lip, 
and  the  brow),  save  that  the  nose  was  somewhat  raised 
and  aquiline ;  and  the  bones,  hard  and  visible,  forbade 
that  fleshy  and  waving  contour  which  on  the  Grecian 
physiognomy  preserved  even  in  manhood  the  round 
and  beautiful  curves  of  youth.  His  eyes,  large  and 
black  as  the  deepest  night,  shone  with  no  varying  and 
uncertain  lustre.  A  deep,  thoughtful,  and  half-melan- 
choly calm  seemed  unalterably  fixed  in  their  majestic 
and  commanding  gaze.  His  step  and  mien  were  pe- 
culiarly sedate  and  lofty,  and  something  foreign  in  the 
fashion  and  the  sober  hues  of  his  sweeping  garments 
added  to  the  impressive  effect  of  his  quiet  countenance 
and  stately  form.  Each  of  the  young  men,  in  saluting 
the  new-comer,  made  mechanically,  and  with  care  to 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  17 

conceal  it  from  him,  a  slight  gesture  or  sign  with  their 
fingers ;  for  Arbaces,  the  Egyptian,  was  supposed  to 
possess  the  fatal  gift  of  the  evil  eye. 

"  The  scene  must,  indeed,  be  beautiful,"  said  Ar- 
baces, with  a  cold  though  courteous  smile,  "  which 
draws  the  gay  Clodius^  and  Glaucus  the  all-admired, 
from  the  crowded  thoroughfares  of  the  city." 

"  Is  nature  ordinarily  so  unattractive  ?  "  asked  the 
Greek. 

"  To  the  dissipated — yes." 

"  An  austere  reply,  but  scarcely  a  wise  one.  Pleas- 
ure delights  in  contrasts ;  it  is  from  dissipation  that  we 
learn  to  enjoy  solitude,  and  from  solitude  dissipation." 

"  So  think  the  young  philosophers  of  the  Garden," 
replied  the  Egyptian ;  "  they  mistake  lassitude  for  medi- 
tation, and  imagine  that,  because  they  are  sated  with 
others,  they  know  the  delight  of  loneliness.  But  not 
in  such  jaded  bosoms  can  Nature  awaken  that  enthusi- 
asm which  alone  draws  from  her  chaste  reserve  all  her 
unspeakable  beauty:  she  demands  from  you,  not  the 
exhaustion  of  passion,  but  all  that  fervour  from  which 
you  only  seek,  in  adoring  her,  a  release.  When,  young 
Athenian,  the  moon  revealed  herself  in  visions  of  light 
to  Endymion,  it  was  after  a  day  passed,  not  amongst 
the  feverish  haunts  of  men,  but  on  the  still  mountains 
and  in  the  solitary  valleys  of  the  hunter." 

"  Beautiful  simile !  "  cried  Glaucus ;  "  most  unjust 
application !  Exhaustion !  that  word  is  for  age,  not 
youth.  By  me,  at  least,  one  moment  of  satiety  has 
never  been  known !  " 

Again  the  Egyptian  smiled,  but  his  smile  was  cold 
and  blighting,  and  even  the  unimaginative  Clodius  froze 
beneath  its  light.  He  did  not,  however,  reply  to  the 


18          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

passionate  exclamation  of  Glaucus ;  but,  after  a  pause, 
he  said,  in  a  soft  and  melancholy  voice, — 

"  After  all,  you  do  right  to  enjoy  the  hour  while  it 
smiles  for  you;  the  rose  soon  withers,  the  perfume 
soon  exhales.  And  we,  O  Glaucus!  strangers  in  the 
land,  and  far  from  our  fathers'  ashes,  what  is  there  left 
for  us  but  pleasure  or  regret! — for  you  the  first,  per- 
haps for  me  the  last." 

The  bright  eyes  of  the  Greek  were  suddenly  suffused 
with  tears.  "  Ah,  speak  not,  Arbaces,"  he  cried — 
"  speak  not  of  our  ancestors.  Let  us  forget  that  there 
were  ever  other  liberties  than  those  of  Rome!  And 
Glory! — oh,  vainly  would  we  call  her  ghost  from  the 
fields  of  Marathon  and  Thermopylae !  " 

"  Thy  heart  rebukes  thee  while  thou  speakest,"  said 
the  Egyptian ;  "  and  in  thy  gaieties  this  night  thou 
wilt  be  more  mindful  of  Leaena  *  than  of  Lais.  Vale!  " 

Thus  saying,  he  gathered  his  robe  around  him,  and 
slowly  swept  away. 

"  I  breathe  more  freely,"  said  Clodius.  "  Imitating 
the  Egyptians,  we  sometimes  introduce  a  skeleton  at 
our  feasts.  In  truth,  the  presence  of  such  an  Egyptian 
as  yon  gliding  shadow  were  spectre  enough  to  sour  the 
richest  grape  of  the  Falernian." 

"  Strange  man  !  "  said  Glaucus,  musingly :  "  yet  dead 
though  he  seemed  to  pleasure,  and  cold  to  the  objects 
of  the  world,  scandal  belies  him,  or  his  house  and  his 
heart  could  tell  a  different  tale." 

"  Ah !  there  are  whispers  of  other  orgies  than  those 
of  Osiris  in  his  gloomy  mansion.  He  is  rich,  too,  they 

1  Lesena,  the  heroic  mistress  of  Aristogiton,  when  put  to  the 
torture,  bit  out  her  tongue,  that  the  pain  might  not  induce  her 
to  betray  the  conspiracy  against  the  sons  of  Pisistratus.  The 
statue  of  a  lioness,  erected  in  her  honour,  was  to  be  seen  at 
Athens  in  the  time  of  Pausanias. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  19 

say.  Can  we  not  get  him  amongst  us,  and  teach  him 
the  charms  of  dice  ?  Pleasure  of  pleasures  !  hot  fever 
of  hope  and  fear !  inexpressible,  un jaded  passion !  how 
fiercely  beautiful  thou  art,  O  Gaming !  " 

"  Inspired — inspired !  "  cried  Glaucus,  laughing ; 
"  the  oracle  speaks  poetry  in  Clodius.  What  miracle 
next!" 


CHAPTER  III 

PARENTAGE  OF  GLAUCUS. — DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  HOUSES 
OF  POMPEII. A  CLASSIC  REVEL. 

Heaven  had  given  to  Glaucus  every  blessing  but  one ; 
it  had  given  him  beauty,  health,  fortune,  genius,  illus- 
trious descent,  a  heart  of  fire,  a  mind  of  poetry;  but 
it  had  denied  him  the  heritage  of  freedom.  He  was 
born  in  Athens,  the  subject  of  Rome.  Succeeding 
early  to  an  ample  inheritance,  he  had  indulged  that  in- 
clination for  travel  so  natural  to  the  young,  and  had 
drunk  deep  of  the  intoxicating  draught  of  pleasure 
amidst  the  gorgeous  luxuries,  of  the  imperial  court. 

He  was  an  Alcibiades  without  ambition.  He  was 
what  a  man  of  imagination,  youth,  fortune,  and  tal- 
ents readily  becomes  when  you  deprive  him  of  the  in- 
spiration of  glory.  His  house  at  Rome  was  the  theme 
of  the  debauchees,  but  also  of  the  lovers  of  art;  and 
the  sculptors  of  Greece  delighted  to  task  their  skill  in 
adorning  the  porticoes  and  exedra  of  an  Athenian. 
His  retreat  at  Pompeii — alas !  the  colours  are  faded 
now,  the  walls  stripped  of  their  paintings ! — its  main 
beauty,  its  elaborate  finish  of  grace  and  ornament,  is 
gone ;  yet  when  first  given  once  more  to  the  day,  what 
eulogies,  what  wonder,  did  its  minute  and  glowing 


20          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

decorations  create — its  paintings — its  mosaics !  Pas- 
sionately enamoured  of  poetry  and  the  drama,  which 
recalled  to  Glaucus  the  wit  and  the  heroism  of  his 
race,  that  fairy  mansion  was  adorned  with  representa- 
tions of  ^schylus  and  Homer.  And  antiquaries,  who 
resolve  taste  to  a  trade,  have  turned  the  patron  to  the 
professor,  and  still  (though  the  error  is  now  acknowl- 
edged) they  style  in  custom,  as  they  first  named  in 
mistake,  the  disburied  house  of  the  Athenian  Glaucus 

"  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  DRAMATIC  POET." 

Previous  to  our  description  of  this  house,  it  may  be 
as  well  to  convey  to  the  reader  a  general  notion  of  the 
houses  of  Pompeii,  which  he  will  find  to  resemble 
strongly  the  plans  of  Vitruvius ;  but  with  all  those  dif- 
ferences in  detail,  of  caprice  and  taste,  which  being  nat- 
ural to  mankind,  have  always  puzzled  antiquaries.  We 
shall  endeavour  to  make  this  description  as  clear  and 
unpedantic  as  possible. 

You  enter,  then,  usually  by  a  small  entrance-passage 
(called  vestibulum} ,  into  a  hall,  sometimes  with  (but 
more  frequently  without)  the  ornament  of  columns; 
around  three  sides  of  this  hall  are  doors  communicat- 
ing with  several  bed-chambers  (among  which  is  the 
porter's),  the  best  of  these  being  usually  appropriated 
to  country  visitors.  At  the  extremity  of  the  hall,  on 
either  side,  to  the  right  and  left,  if  the  house  is  large, 
there  are  two  small  recesses,  rather  than  chambers,  gen- 
erally devoted  to  the  ladies  of  the  mansion ;  and  in  the 
centre  of  the  tesselated  pavement  of  the  hall  is  invari- 
ably a  square,  shallow  reservoir  for  rain  water  (classi- 
cally termed  impluvium} ,  which  was  admitted  by  an 
aperture  in  the  roof  above  ;  the  said  aperture  being  cov- 
ered at  will  by  an  awning.  Near  this  impluvium, 
which  had  a  peculiar  sanctity  in  the  eyes  of  the  an- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          21 

cients,  were  sometimes  (but  at  Pompeii  more  rarely 
than  at  Rome)  placed  images  of  the  household  gods; 
— the  hospitable  hearth,  often  mentioned  by  the  Roman 
poets,  and  consecrated  to  the  Lares,  was  at  Pompeii 
almost  invariably  formed  by  a  movable  brazier;  while 
in  some  corner,  often  the  most  ostentatious  place,  was 
deposited  a  huge  wooden  chest,  ornamented  and 
strengthened  by  bands  of  bronze  or  iron,  and  secured 
by  strong  hooks  upon  a  stone  pedestal  so  firmly  as  to 
defy  the  attempts  of  any  robber  to  detach  it  from  its 
position.  It  is  supposed  that  this  chest  was  the  money 
box,  or  coffer,  of  the  master  of  the  house;  though  as 
no  money  has  been  found  in  any  of  the  chests  discov- 
ered at  Pompeii,  it  is  probable  that  it  was  sometimes 
rather  designed  for  ornament  than  use. 

In  this  hall  (or  atrium,  to  speak  classically),  the  cli- 
ents and  visitors  of  inferior  rank  were  usually  received. 
In  the  houses  of  the  more  "  respectable,"  an  atriensis, 
or  slave  peculiarly  devoted  to  the  service  of  the  hall, 
was  invariably  retained,  and  his  rank  among  his  fel- 
low-slaves was  high  and  important.  The  reservoir  in 
the  centre  must  have  been  rather  a  dangerous  orna- 
ment, but  the  centre  of  the  hall  was  like  the  grass-plot 
of  a  college,  and  interdicted  to  the  passers  to  and  fro, 
who  found  ample  space  in  the  margin.  Right  opposite 
the  entrance,  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall,  was  an  apart- 
ment (tablinnm),  in  which  the  pavement  was  usually 
adorned  with  rich  mosaics,  and  the  walls  covered  with 
elaborate  paintings.  Here  were  usually  kept  the  rec- 
ords of  the  family,  or  those  of  any  public  office  that 
had  been  filled  by  the  owner :  on  one  side  of  this  saloon, 
if  we  may  so  call  it,  was  often  a  dining-room,  or  tri- 
clinium; on  the  other  side,  perhaps,  what  we  should 
now  term  a  cabinet  of  gems,  containing  whatever  curi- 


22          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

osities  were  deemed  most  rare  and  costly ;  and  invari- 
ably a  small  passage  for  the  slaves  to  cross  to  the  fur- 
ther parts  of  the  house,  without  passing  the  apartments 
thus  mentioned.  These  rooms  all  opened  on  a  square 
or  oblong  colonnade,  technically  termed  peristyle.  If 
the  house  was  small,  its  boundary  ceased  with  this 
colonnade ;  and  in  that  case  its  centre,  however  dimin- 
utive, was  ordinarily  appropriated  to  the  purpose  of  a 
garden,  and  adorned  with  vases  of  flowers,  placed  upon 
pedestals :  while,  under  the  colonnade,  to  the  right  and 
left,  were  doors  admitting  to  bedrooms,1  to  a  second 
triclinium,  or  eating- room  (for  the  ancients  generally 
appropriated  two  rooms  at  least  to  that  purpose,  one 
for  summer,  and  one  for  winter — or,  perhaps,  one  for 
ordinary,  the  other  for  festive,  occasions)  ;  and  if  the 
owner  affected  letters,  a  cabinet,  dignified  by  the  name 
of  library — for  a  very  small  room  was  sufficient  to  con- 
tain the  few  rolls  of  papyrus  which  the  ancients 
deemed  a  notable  collection  of  books. 

At  the  end  of  the  peristyle  was  generally  the  kitchen. 
Supposing  the  house  was  large,  it  did  not  end  with 
the  peristyle,  and  the  centre  thereof  was  not  in  that 
case  a  garden,  but  might  be  perhaps,  adorned  with  a 
fountain,  or  basin  for  fish ;  and  at  its  end,  exactly  op- 
posite to  the  tablinum,  was  generally  another  eating- 
room,  on  either  side  of  which  were  bedrooms,  and  per- 
haps a  picture-saloon,  or  pinacotheca.2  These  apart- 
ments communicated  again  with  a  square  or  oblong 
space,  usually  adorned  on  three  sides  with  a  colon- 
nade like  the  peristyle,  and  very  much  resembling  the 
peristyle,  only  usually  longer.  This  was  the  proper 

1  The  Romans  had  bedrooms  appropriated  not  only  to  the 
sleep  of  night,  but  also  to  the  day  siesta  (cubicula  diurna). 

*  In  the  stately  palaces  of  Rome,  this  picture-room  generally 
communicated  with  the  atrium. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          23 

vividariiim,  or  garden,  being  commonly  adorned  with 
a  fountain,  or  statues,  and  a  profusion  of  gay  flowers : 
at  its  extreme  end  was  the  gardener's  house ;  on  either 
side,  beneath  the  colonnade,  were  sometimes,  if  the 
size  of  the  family  required  it,  additional  rooms. 

At  Pompeii,  a  second  or  third  story  was  rarely  of 
importance,  being  built  only  above  a  small  part  of  the 
house,  and  containing  rooms  for  the  slaves ;  differing 
in  this  respect  from  the  more  magnificent  edifices  of 
Rome,  which  generally  contained  the  principal  eating- 
room  (or  ccenaculum)  on  the  second  floor.  The  apart- 
ments themselves  were  ordinarily  of  small  size ;  for  in 
those  delightful  climes  they  received  any  extraordi- 
nary number  of  visitors  in  the  peristyle  (or  portico), 
the  hall,  or  the  garden ;  and  even  their  banquet-rooms, 
however  elaborately  adorned  and  carefully  selected  in 
point  of  aspect,  were  of  diminutive  proportions ;  for 
the  intellectual  ancients,  being  fond  of  society,  not  of 
crowds,  rarely  feasted  more  than  nine  at  a  time,  so 
that  large  dinner-rooms  were  not  so  necessary  with 
them  as  with  us.1  But  the  suite  of  rooms  seen  at  once 
from  the  entrance,  must  have  had  a  very  imposing  ef- 
fect: you  beheld  at  once  the  hall  richly  paved  and 
painted — the  tablinum — the  graceful  peristyle  and  (if 
the  house  extended  farther),  the  opposite  banquet-room 
and  the  garden,  which  closed  the  view  with  some  gush- 
ing fount  or  marble  statue. 

The  reader  will  now  have  a  tolerable  notion  of  the 
Pompeian  houses,  which  resembled  in  some  respects 
the  Grecian,  but  mostly  the  Roman  fashion  of  domes- 
tic architecture.  In  almost  every  house  there  is  some 
difference  in  detail  from  the  rest,  but  the  principal  out- 

1  When  they  entertained  very  large  parties,  the  feast  was 
usually  served  in  the  hall. 


24          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

line  is  the  same  in  all.  In  all  you  find  the  hall,  the 
tablinum,  and  the  peristyle,  communicating  with  each 
other,  in  all  you  find  the  walls  richly  painted;  and  in 
all  the  evidence  of  a  people  fond  of  the  refining  ele- 
gances of  life.  The  purity  of  the  taste  of  the  Pom- 
peians  in  decoration  is,  however,  questionable:  they 
were  fond  of  the  gaudiest  colours,  of  fantastic  designs ; 
they  often  painted  the  lower  half  of  their  columns  a 
bright  red,  leaving  the  rest  uncoloured ;  and  where  the 
garden  was  small,  its  wall  was  frequently  tinted  to  de- 
ceive the  eye  as  to  its  extent,  imitating  trees,  birds, 
temples,  &c.,  in  perspective — a  meretricious  delusion 
which  the  graceful  pedantry  of  Pliny  himself  adopted, 
with  a  complacent  pride  in  its  ingenuity. 

But  the  house  of  Glaucus  was  at  once  one  of  the 
smallest,  and  yet  one  of  the  most  adorned  and  finished 
of  all  the  private  mansions  of  Pompeii:  it  would  be 
a  model  at  this  day  for  the  house  of  "  a  single  man  in 
Mayfair  " — the  envy  and  despair  of  the  coelibian  pur- 
chasers of  buhl  and  marquetry. 

You  enter  by  a  long  and  narrow  vestibule,  on  the 
floor  of  which  is  the  image  of  a  dog  in  mosaic,  with 
the  well-known  "  Cave  canem," — or  "  Beware  the 
dog."  On  either  side  is  a  chamber  of  some  size ;  for 
the  interior  part  of  the  house  not  being  large  enough 
to  contain  the  two  great  divisions  of  private  and  pub- 
lic apartments,  these  two  rooms  were  set  apart  for  the 
reception  of  visitors  who  neither  by  rank  nor  familiar- 
ity were  entitled  to  admission  into  the  penetralia  of  the 
mansion. 

Advancing  up  the  vestibule  you  enter  an  atrium,  that 
when  first  discovered  was  rich  in  paintings,  which  in 
point  of  expression  would  scarcely  disgrace  a  Rafaele. 
You  may  see  them  now  transplanted  to  the  Neapolitan 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          25 

Museum ;  they  are  still  the  admiration  of  connoisseurs 
— they  depict  the  parting  of  Achilles  and  Briseis. 
Who  does  not  acknowledge  the  force,  the  vigour,  the 
beauty  employed  in  delineating  the  forms  and  faces  of 
Achilles  and  the  immortal  slave! 

On  one  side  the  atrium,  a  small  staircase  admitted 
to  the  apartments  for  the  slaves  on  the  second  floor; 
there  also  were  two  or  three  small  bedrooms,  the  walls 
of  which  portrayed  the  rape  of  Europa,  the  battle  of 
the  Amazons,  &c. 

You  now  enter  the  tablinum,  across  which,  at  either 
end,  hung  rich  draperies  of  Tyrian  purple,  half  with- 
drawn.1 On  the  walls  was  depicted  a  poet  reading  his 
verses  to  his  friends ;  and  in  the  pavement  was  inserted 
a  small  and  most  exquisite  mosaic,  typical  of  the  in- 
structions given  by  the  director  of  the  stage  to  his 
comedians. 

You  passed  through  this  saloon  and  entered  the 
peristyle;  and  here  (as  I  have  said  before  was  usually 
the  case  with  the  smaller  houses  of  Pompeii)  the  man- 
sion ended.  From  each  of  the  seven  columns  that 
adorned  this  court  hung  festoons  of  garlands ;  the  cen- 
tre, supplying  the  place  of  a  garden,  bloomed  with  the 
rarest  flowers  placed  in  vases  of  white  marble,  that 
were  supported  on  pedestals.  At  the  left  hand  of  this 
small  garden  was  a  diminutive  fane,  resembling  one  of 
those  small  chapels  placed  at  the  side  of  roads  in 
Catholic  countries,  and  dedicated  to  the  Penates ;  be- 
fore it  stood  a  bronze  tripod :  to  the  left  of  the  colon- 
nade were  two  small  cubicula,  or  bedrooms;  to  the 
right  was  the  triclinium,  in  which  the  guests  were  now 
assembled. 

This  room  is  usually  termed  by  the  antiquaries  of 

1  The  tablinum  was  also  secured  at  pleasure  by  sliding-doors. 


26          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Naples  "  The  Chamber  of  Leda ;  "  and  in  the  beautiful 
work  of  Sir  William  Cell.,  the  reader  will  find  an  en- 
graving from  that  most  delicate  and  graceful  painting 
of  Leda  presenting  her  new-born  to  her  husband,  from 
which  the  room  derives  its  name.  This  charming 
apartment  opened  upon  the  fragrant  garden.  Round 
the  table  of  citrean  l  wood,  highly  polished  and  deli- 
cately wrought  with  silver  arabesques,  were  placed  the 
three  couches,  which  were  yet  more  common  at  Pom- 
peii than  the  semicircular  seat  that  had  grown  lately 
into  fashion  at  Rome :  and  on  these  couches  of  bronze, 
studded  with  richer  metals,  were  laid  thick  quiltings 
covered  with  elaborate  broidery,  and  yielding  luxuri- 
ously to  the  pressure. 

"  Well,  I  must  own,"  said  the  aedile  Pansa,  "  that 
your  house,  though  scarcely  larger  than  a  case  for  one's 
fibulae,  is  a  gem  of  its  kind.  How  beautifully  painted 
is  that  parting  of  Achilles  and  Briseis  ! — what  a  style ! 
— what  heads ! — what  a — hem !  " 

"  Praise  from  Pansa  is  indeed  valuable  on  such  sub- 
jects," said  Clodius,  gravely.  "  Why,  the  paintings  on 
his  walls! — Ah,  there  is,  indeed,  the  hand  of  a 
Zeuxis!" 

"  You  flatter  me,  my  Clodius !  indeed  you  do ;  " 
quoth  the  aedile,  who  was  celebrated  through  Pompeii 
for  having  the  worst  paintings  in  the  world ;  for  he 
was  patriotic,  and  patronised  none  but  Pompeians. 
"  You  flatter  me ;  but  there  is  something  pretty — 
^depol,  yes — in  the  colours,  to  say  nothing  of  the  de- 
sign ; — and  then  for  the  kitchen,  my  friends — ah !  that 
was  all  my  fancy." 

'  The  most  valued  wood — not  the  modern  citron-tree.  My 
learned  friend,  Mr.  W.  S.  Landor,  conjectures  it  with  much 
plausibility  to  have  been  mahogany. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          27 

"  What  is  the  design  ?  "  said  Glaucus.  "  I  have  not 
yet  seen  your  kitchen,  though  I  have  often  witnessed 
the  excellence  of  its  cheer." 

"  A  cook,  my  Athenian — a  cook  sacrificing  the 
trophies  of  his  skill  on  the  altar  of  Vesta,  with  a  beauti- 
ful muraena  (taken  from  the  life)  on  a  spit  at  a  dis- 
tance ; — there  is  some  invention  there !  " 

At  that  instant  the  slaves  appeared,  bearing  a  tray 
covered  with  the  first  preparative  initia  of  the  feast. 
Amidst  delicious  figs,  fresh  herbs  strewed  with  snow, 
anchovies,  and  eggs,  were  ranged  small  cups  of  diluted 
wine  sparingly  mixed  with  honey.  As  these  were 
placed  on  the  table,  young  slaves  bore  round  to  each 
of  the  five  guests  (for  there  were  no  more)  the  silver 
basin  of  perfumed  water,  and  napkins  edged  with  a 
purple  fringe.  But  the  sedile  ostentatiously  drew 
forth  his  own  napkin,  which  v/as  not,  indeed,  of  so 
fine  a  linen,  but  in  which  the  fringe  was  twice  as  broad, 
and  wiped  his  hands  with  the  parade  of  a  man  who 
felt  he  was  calling  for  admiration. 

"  A  splendid  mappa  that  of  yours,"  said  Clodius ; 
"  why,  the  fringe  is  as  broad  as  a  girdle !  " 

"  A  trifle,  my  Clodius :  a  trifle !  They  tell  me  this 
stripe  is  the  latest  fashion  at  Rome;  but  Glaucus  at- 
tends to  these  things  more  than  I." 

"  Be  propitious,  O  Bacchus !  "  said  Glaucus,  inclin- 
ing reverentially  to  a  beautiful  image  of  the  god  placed 
in  the  centre  of  the  table,  at  the  corners  of  which  stood 
the  Lares  and  the  salt-holders.  The  guests  followed 
the  prayer,  and  then,  sprinkling  the  wine  on  the  table, 
they  performed  the  wonted  libation. 

This  over,  the  convivialists  reclined  themselves  on 
the  couches,  and  the  business  of  the  hour  commenced. 

"  May  this  cup  be  my  last !  "  said  the  young  Sallust, 


28          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

as  the  table,  cleared  of  its  first  stimulants,  was  now 
loaded  with  the  substantial  part  of  the  entertainment, 
and  the  ministering  slave  poured  forth  to  him  a  brim- 
ming cyathus — "  May  this  cup  be  my  last,  but  it  is  the 
best  wine  I  have  drunk  at  Pompeii !  " 

"  Bring  hither  the  amphora/'  said  Glaucus,  "  and 
read  its  date  and  its  character." 

The  slave  hastened  to  inform  the  party  that  the 
scroll  fastened  to  the  cork  betokened  its  birth  from 
Chios,  and  its  age  a  ripe  fifty  years. 

"  How  deliciously  the  snow  has  cooled  it ! "  said 
Pansa.  "  It  is  just  enough." 

"  It  is  like  the  experience  of  a  man  who  has  cooled 
his  pleasures  sufficiently  to  give  them  a  double  zest," 
exclaimed  Sallust. 

"  It  is  like  a  woman's  '  No,'  "  added  Glaucus :  "  it 
cools  but  to  inflame  the  more." 

"  When  is  our  next  wild-beast  fight?  "  said  Clodius 
to  Pansa. 

"  It  stands  fixed  for  the  ninth  ide  of  August,"  an- 
swered Pansa :  "  on  the  day  after  the  Vulcanalia ; — we 
have  a  most  lovely  young  lion  for  the  occasion." 

"  Whom  shall  we  get  for  him  to  eat  ?  "  asked  Clo- 
dius. "  Alas !  there  is  a  great  scarcity  of  criminals. 
You  must  positively  find  some  innocent  or  other  to 
condemn  to  the  lion,  Pansa !  " 

"  Indeed  I  have  thought  very  seriously  about  it  of 
late,"  replied  the  aedile,  gravely.  "  It  was  a  most  in- 
famous law  that  which  forbade  us  to  send  our  own 
slaves  to  the  wild  beasts.  Not  to  let  us  do  what  we 
like  with  our  own,  that's  what  I  call  an  infringement 
on  property  itself." 

"  Not  so  in  the  good  old  days  of  the  Republic," 
sighed  Sallust. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          29 

"  And  then  this  pretended  mercy  to  the  slaves  is  such 
a  disappointment  to  the  poor  people.  How  they  do 
love  to  see  a  good  tough  battle  between  a  man  and  a 
lion;  and  all  this  innocent  pleasure  they  may  lose  (if 
the  gods  don't  send  us  a  good  criminal  soon)  from  this 
cursed  law !  " 

"  What  can  be  worse  policy,"  said  Clodius,  senten- 
tiously,  "  than  to  interfere  with  the  manly  amusements 
of  the  people  ?  " 

"  Well,  thank  Jupiter  and  the  Fates !  we  have  no 
Nero  at  present,"  said  Sallust. 

"  He  was,  indeed,  a  tyrant ;  he  shut  up  our  amphi- 
theatre for  ten  years." 

"  I  wonder  it  did  not  create  a  rebellion,"  said  Sal- 
lust. 

"  It  very  nearly  did,"  returned  Pansa,  with  his  mouth 
full  of  wild  boar. 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  for  a  mo- 
ment by  a  flourish  of  flutes,  and  two  slaves  entered 
with  a  single  dish. 

"  Ah,  what  delicacy  hast  thou  in  store  for  us  now, 
my  Glaucus  ?  "  cried  the  young  Sallust,  with  sparkling 
eyes. 

Sallust  was  only  twenty-four,  but  he  had  no  pleas- 
ure in  life  like  eating — perhaps  he  had  exhausted  all 
the  others:  yet  had  he  some  talent,  and  an  excellent 
heart — as  far  as  it  went. 

"  I  know  its  face,  by  Pollux !  "  cried  Pansa.  "  It  is 
an  Ambracian  kid!  Ho!  [snapping  his  fingers,  a 
usual  signal  to  the  slaves]  we  must  prepare  a  new  liba- 
tion in  honour  to  the  new  comer." 

"  I  had  hoped,"  said  Glaucus,  in  a  melancholy  tone, 
"  to  have  procured  you  some  oysters  from  Britain ;  but 
the  winds  that  were  so  cruel  to  Caesar  have  forbid  us 
the  oysters." 


30          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Are  they  in  truth  so  delicious  ?  "  asked  Lepidus. 
loosening  to  a  yet  more  luxurious  ease  his  ungirdled 
tunic. 

"  Why,  in  truth,  I  suspect  it  is  the  distance  that  gives 
the  flavour ;  they  want  the  richness  of  the  Brundusium 
oyster.  But,  at  Rome,  no  supper  is  complete  without 
them." 

"  The  poor  Britons !  There  is  some  good  in  them 
after  all/'  said  Sallust.  "  They  produce  an  oyster." 

"  I  wish  they  would  produce  us  a  gladiator,"  said 
the  aedile,  whose  provident  mind  was  musing  over  the 
wants  of  the  amphitheatre. 

"  By  Pallas !  "  cried  Glaucus,  as  his  favourite  slave 
crowned  his  streaming  locks  with  a  new  chaplet,  "  I 
love  these  wild  spectacles  well  enough  when  beast 
fights  beast;  but  when  a  man,  one  with  bones  and 
blood  like  ours,  is  coldly  put  on  the  arena,  and  torn 
limb  from  limb,  the  interest  is  too  horrid :  I  sicken — 
I  gasp  for  breath — I  long  to  rush  and  defend  him. 
The  yells  of  the  populace  seem  to  me  more  dire  than 
the  voices  of  the  Furies  chasing  Orestes.  I  rejoice  that 
there  is  so  little  chance  of  that  bloody  exhibition  for 
our  next  show !  " 

The  aedile  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  young  Sal- 
lust,  who  was  thought  the  best-natured  man  in  Pom- 
peii, stared  in  surprise.  The  graceful  Lepidus,  who 
rarely  spoke  for  fear  of  disturbing  his  features,  ejacu- 
lated "  Hercle ! "  The  parasite  Clodius  muttered 
"  JEdepol !  "  and  the  sixth  banqueter,  who  was  the 
umbra  of  Clodius,1  and  whose  duty  it  was  to  echo  his 
richer  friend,  when  he  could  not  praise  him, — the  para- 
site of  a  parasite, — muttered  also  "  vEdepol !  " 

"  Well,  you  Italians  are  used  to  these  spectacles ;  we 
1  See  note  (b)  at  the  end. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          31 

Greeks  are  more  merciful.  Ah,  shade  of  Pindar! — 
the  rapture  of  a  true  Grecian  game — the  emulation  of 
man  against  man — the  generous  strife — the  half- 
mournful  triumph — so  proud  to  contend  with  a  noble 
foe,  so  sad  to  see  him  overcome !  But  ye  understand 
me  not." 

"  The  kid  is  excellent,"  said  Sallust.  The  slave, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  carve,  and  who  valued  himself 
on  his  science,  had  just  performed  that  office  on  the 
kid  to  the  sound  of  music,  his  knife  keeping  time,  be- 
ginning with  a  low  tenor,  and  accomplishing  the  ardu- 
ous feat  amidst  a  magnificent  diapason. 

"  Your  cook  is,  of  course,  from  Sicily  ?  "  said  Pansa. 

"  Yes,  of  Syracuse." 

"  I  will  play  for  him,"  said  Clodius.  "  We  will  have 
a  game  between  the  courses." 

"  Better  that  sort  of  game,  certainly,  than  a  beast 
fight ;  but  I  cannot  stake  my  Sicilian — you  have  noth- 
ing so  precious  to  stake  me  in  return." 

"  My  Phillida — my  beautiful  dancing  girl !  " 

"  I  never  buy  women,"  said  the  Greek,  carelessly  re- 
arranging his  chaplet. 

The  musicians,  who  were  stationed  in  the  portico 
without,  had  commenced  their  office  with  the  kid ;  they 
now  directed  the  melody  into  a  more  soft,  a  more  gay, 
yet  it  may  be  a  more  intellectual  strain ;  and  they 
chanted  that  song  of  Horace  beginning  "  Persicos  odi," 
&c.,  so  impossible  to  translate,  and  which  they  imag- 
ined applicable  to  a  feast  that,  effeminate  as  it  seems 
to  us,  was  simple  enough  for  the  gorgeous  revelry  of 
the  time.  We  are  witnessing  the  domestic,  and  not 
the  princely  feast — the  entertainment  of  a  gentleman, 
not  an  emperor  or  a  senator. 

"  Ah,  good  old  Horace !  "  said  Sallust,  compassion- 


32          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

ately ;  "  he  sang  well  of  feasts  and  girls,  but  not  like 
our  modern  poets." 

"  The  immortal  Fulvius,  for  instance,"  said  Clodius. 

"  Ah,  Fulvius,  the  immortal !  "  said  the  umbra. 

"  And  Spursena ;  and  Caius  Mutius,  who  wrote  three 
epics  in  a  year — could  Horace  do  that,  or  Virgil 
either?  "  said  Lepidus.  "  Those  old  poets  all  fell  into 
the  mistake  of  copying  sculpture  instead  of  painting. 
Simplicity  and  repose — that  was  their  notion ;  but  we 
moderns  have  fire,  and  passion,  and  energy — we  never 
sleep,  we  imitate  the  colours  of  painting,  its  life,  and 
its  action.  Immortal  Fulvius  !  " 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Sallust,  "  have  you  seen  the  new 
ode  by  Spuraena,  in  honour  of  our  Egyptian  Isis?  It 
is  magnificent — the  true  religious  fervour." 

"  Isis  seems  a  favourite  divinity  at  Pompeii,"  said 
Glaucus. 

"  Yes !  "  said  Pansa,  "  she  is  exceedingly  in  repute 
just  at  this  moment ;  her  statue  has  been  uttering  the 
most  remarkable  oracles.  I  am  not  superstitious,  but 
I  must  confess  that  she  has  more  than  once  assisted 
me  materially  in  my  magistracy  with  her  advice.  Her 
priests  are  so  pious,  too!  none  of  your  gay,  none  of 
your  proud,  ministers  of  Jupiter  and  Fortune:  they 
walk  barefoot,  eat  no  meat,  and  pass  the  greater  part 
of  the  night  in  solitary  devotion !  " 

"  An  example  to  our  other  priesthoods  indeed ! — 
Jupiter's  temple  wants  reforming  sadly,"  said  Lepidus, 
who  was  a  great  reformer  for  all  but  himself. 

"  They  say  that  Arbaces  the  Egyptian  has  imparted 
some  most  solemn  mysteries  to  the  priests  of  Isis," 
observed  Sallust.  "  He  boasts  his  descent  from  the 
race  of  Rameses,  and  declares  that  in  his  family  the 
secrets  of  remotest  antiquity  are  treasured." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          33 

"  He  certainly  possesses  the  gift  of  the  evil  eye," 
said  Clodius.  "  If  I  ever  come  upon  that  Medusa  front 
without  the  previous  charm,  I  am  sure  to  lose  a  fa- 
vourite horse,  or  throw  the  canes1  nine  times  running." 

"  The  last  would  indeed  be  a  miracle!  "  said  Sallust, 
gravely. 

"  How  mean  you,  Sallust  ?  "  returned  the  gamester, 
with  a  flushed  brow. 

"  I  mean  what  you  would  leave  me  if  I  played  often 
with  you;  and  that  is — nothing." 

Clodius  answered  only  by  a  smile  of  disdain. 

"  If  Arbaces  were  not  so  rich,"  said  Pansa,  with  a 
stately  air,  "  I  should  stretch  my  authority  a  little,  and 
inquire  into  the  truth  of  the  report  which  calls  him  an 
astrologer  and  a  sorcerer.  Agrippa,  when  asdile  of 
Rome,  banished  all  such  terrible  citizens.  But  a  rich 
man — it  is  the  duty  of  an  aedile  to  protect  the  rich !  " 

"  What  think  you  of  this  new  sect,  which  I  am  told 
has  even  a  few  proselytes  in  Pompeii,  these  followers 
of  the  Hebrew  God — Christus  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mere  speculative  visionaries,"  said  Clodius ; 
"  they  have  not  a  single  gentleman  amongst  them ; 
their  proselytes  are  poor,  insignificant,  ignorant  peo- 
ple!" 

"  Who  ought,  however,  to  be  crucified  for  their 
blasphemy,"  said  Pansa,  with  vehemence ;  "  they  deny 
Venus  and  Jove!  Nazarene  is  but  another  name  for 
atheist.  Let  me  catch  them,  that's  all." 

The  second  course  was  gone — the  feasters  fell  back 
on  their  couches — there  was  a  pause  while  they  listened 
to  the  soft  voices  of  the  South,  and  the  music  of  the 
Arcadian  reed.  Glaucus  was  the  most  rapt  and  the 

1  Canes,  or  Caniculce,  the  lowest  throw  at  dice. 
3 


34          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

least  inclined  to  break  the  silence,  but  Clodius  began 
already  to  think  that  they  wasted  time. 

" Bene  vobis!  (your  health!)  my  Glaucus,"  said  he, 
quaffing  a  cup  to  each  letter  of  the  Greek's  name,  with 
the  ease  of  a  practised  drinker.  "  Will  you  not  be 
avenged  on  your  ill-fortune  of  yesterday?  See,  the 
dice  court  us." 

"  As  you  will,"  said  Glaucus. 

"  The  dice  in  summer,  and  I  an  aedile !  "  1  said  Pansa, 
magisterially ;  "  it  is  against  all  law." 

"  Not  in  your  presence,  grave  Pansa,"  returned  Clo- 
dius, rattling  the  dice  in  a  long  box ;  "  your  presence 
restrains  all  license ;  it  is  not  the  thing,  but  the  excess 
of  the  thing,  that  hurts." 

"  What  wisdom !  "  muttered  the  umbra. 

"  Well,  I  will  look  another  way,"  said  the  aedile. 

"  Not  yet,  good  Pansa ;  let  us  wait  till  we  have 
supped,"  said  Glaucus. 

Clodius  reluctantly  yielded,  concealing  his  vexation 
with  a  yawn. 

"  He  gapes  to  devour  the  gold,"  whispered  Lepidus 
to  Sallust,  in  a  quotation  from  the  Aulularia  of  Plautus. 

"  Ah !  how  well  I  know  these  polypi,  who  hold  all 
they  touch,"  answered  Sallust,  in  the  same  tone  and 
out  of  the  same  play. 

The  third  course,  consisting  of  a  variety  of  fruits, 
pistachio  nuts,  sweetmeats,  tarts,  and  confectionery 
tortured  into  a  thousand  fantastic  and  airy  shapes,  was 
now  placed  upon  the  table:  and  the  ministri,  or  at- 
tendants, also  set  there  the  wine  (which  had  hitherto 
been  handed  round  to  the  guests)  in  large  jugs  of 
glass,  each  bearing  upon  it  the  schedule  of  its  age  and 
quality. 

1  See  note  (c)  at  the  end. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          35 

"  Taste  this  Lesbian,  my  Pansa,"  said  Sallust ;  "  it 
is  excellent." 

"  It  is  not  very  old/'  said  Glaticus,  "  but  it  has  been 
made  precocious,  like  ourselves,  by  being  put  to  the 
fire: — the  wine  to  the  flames  of  Vulcan — we  to  those 
of  his  wife — to  whose  honour  I  pour  this  cup." 

"  It  is  delicate,"  said  Pansa,  "  but  there  is  perhaps 
the  least  particle  too  much  of  rosin  in  its  flavour." 

"  What  a  beautiful  cup !  "  cried  Clodius,  taking  up 
one  of  transparent  crystal,  the  handles  of  which  were 
wrought  with  gems,  and  twisted  in  the  shape  of  ser- 
pents, the  favourite  fashion  at  Pompeii. 

"  This  ring,"  said  Glaucus,  taking  a  costly  jewel 
from  the  first  joint  of  his  finger  and  hanging  it  on  the 
handle,  "  gives  it  a  richer  show,  and  renders  it  less 
unworthy  of  thy  acceptance,  my  Clodius,  on  whom 
may  the  gods  bestow  health  and  fortune,  long  and  oft, 
to  crown  it  to  the  brim !  " 

"  You  are  too  generous,  Glaucus,"  said  the  game- 
ster, handing  the  cup  to  his  slave ;  "  but  your  love 
gives  it  a  double  value." 

"  This  cup  to  the  Graces !  "  said  Pansa,  and  he  thrice 
emptied  his  calix.  The  guests  followed  his  example. 

"  We  have  appointed  no  director  to  the  feast,"  cried 
Sallust. 

"  Let  us  throw  for  him,  then,"  said  Clodius,  rattling 
the  dice-box. 

"  Nay,"  cried  Glaucus,  "  no  cold  and  trite  director 
for  us :  no  dictator  of  the  banquet ;  no  rex  convivii. 
Have  not  the  Romans  sworn  never  to  obey  a  king? 
Shall  we  be  less  free  than  your  ancestors  ?  Ho !  mu- 
sicians, let  us  have  the  song  I  composed  the  other  night ; 
it  has  a  verse  on  this  subject,  '  The  Bacchic  Hymn  of 
the  Hours.' " 


36          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  musicians  struck  their  instruments  to  a  wild 
Ionic  air,  whilst  the  youngest  voices  in  the  band  chant- 
ed forth,  in  Greek  words,  as  numbers,  the  following 
strain : — 

THE  EVENING  HYMN  OF  THE  HOURS 


Through  the  summer  day,  through  the  weary  day, 

We  have  glided  long; 

Ere  we  speed  to  the  Night  through  her  portals  gray, 
Hail  us  with  song ! — 
With  song,  with  song, 

With  a  bright  and  joyous  song; 
Such  as  the  Cretan  maid, 
While  the  twilight  made  her  bolder, 
Woke,  high  through  the  ivy  shade, 

When  the  wine-god  first  consoled  her. 
From  the  hush'd,  low-breathing  skies, 
Half-shut  look'd  their  starry  eyes, 
And  all  around. 
With  a  loving  sound, 
The  ^Egean  waves  were  creeping: 
On  her  lap  lay  the  lynx's  head ; 
Wild  thyme  was  her  bridal  bed ; 
And  aye  through  each  tiny  space, 
In  the  green  vine's  green  embrace, 
The  Fauns  were  slily  peeping; — 
The  Fauns,  the  prying  Fauns — 
The  arch,  the  laughing  Fauns — 
The  Fauns  were  slily  peeping! 

ii. 
Flagging  and  faint  are  we 

With  our  ceaseless  flight, 
And  dull  shall  our  journey  be 
Through  the  realm  of  night. 
Bathe  us,  O  bathe  our  weary  wings, 
In  the  purple  wave,  as  it  freshly  springs 
To  your  cups  from  the  fount  of  light — 
From  the  fount  of  light — from  the  fount  of  light; 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF- POMPEII  37 

For  there,  when  the  sun  has  gone  down  in  night, 

There  in  the  bowl  we  find  him. 
The  grape  is  the  well  of  that  summer  sun, 
Or  rather  the  stream,  that  he  gazed  upon, 
Till  he  left  in  truth,  like  the  Thespian  youth,1 

His  soul,  as  he  gazed,  behind  him. 

in. 
A  cup  to  Jove,  and  a  cup  to  Love, 

And  a  cup  to  the  son  of  Maia; 
And  honour  with  three,  the  band-zone  free, 

The  band  of  the  bright  Aglaia. 
But  since  every  bud  in  the  wreath  of  pleasure 

Ye  owe  to  the  sister  Hours, 
No  stinted  cups,  in  a  formal  measure, 

The  Bromian  law  makes  ours. 
He  honours  us  most  who  gives  us  most, 
And  boasts,  with  a  Bacchanal's  honest  boast, 

He  never  will  count  the  treasure. 
Fastly  we  fleet,  then  seize  our  wings, 
And  plunge  us  deep  in  the  sparkling  springs; 
And  aye,  as  we  rise  with  a  dripping  plume, 
We'll  scatter  the  spray, round  the  garland's  bloom. 

We  glow — we  glow. 

Behold,  as  the  girls  of  the  Eastern  wave 
Bore  once  with  a  shout  to  their  crystal  cave 
The  prize  of  the  Mysian  Hylas, 

Even  so — even  so, 

We  have  caught  the  young  god  in  our  warm  embrace, 
We  hurry  him  on  in  our  laughing  race  ; 
We  hurry  him  on,  with  a  whoop  and  song, 
The  cloudy  rivers  of  night  along — 
Ho,  ho ! — we  have  caught  thee,  Psilas  !  " 

The  guests  applauded  loudly.     When  the  poet  is 
your  host,  his  verses  are  sure  to  charm. 

"  Thoroughly  Greek,"  said  Lepidus :  "  the  wildness, 
force  and  energy  of  that  tongue  it  is  impossible  to 
imitate  in  the  Roman  poetry." 
1  Narcissus. 


38          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  It  is,  indeed,  a  great  contrast,"  said  Clodius,  ironi- 
cally at  heart,  though  not  in  appearance,  "  to  the  old- 
fashioned  and  tame  simplicity  of  that  ode  of  Horace 
which  we  heard  before.  The  air  is  beautifully  Ionic : 
the  word  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  toast — Companions,  I 
give  you  the  beautiful  lone." 

"  lone ! — the  name  is  Greek,"  said  Glaucus,  in  a  soft 
voice.  "  I  drink  the  health  with  delight.  But  who  is 
lone?" 

"Ah!  you  have  but  just  come  to  Pompeii,  or  you 
would  deserve  ostracism  for  your  ignorance,"  said 
Lepidus,  conceitedly :  "  not  to  know  lone,  is  not  to 
know  the  chief  charm  of  our  city." 

"  She  is  of  the  most  rare  beauty,"  said  Pansa ;  "  and 
what  a  voice !  " 

"  She  can  feed  only  on  nightingales'  tongues,"  said 
Clodius. 

"  Nightingales'  tongues  !  —  beautiful  thought  !  " 
sighed  the  umbra. 

"  Enlighten  me,  I  beseech  you,"  said  Glaucus. 

"  Know  then "  began  Lepidus. 

"  Let  me  speak,"  cried  Clodius ;  "  you  drawl  out 
your  words  as  if  you  spoke  tortoises." 

"  And  you  speak  stones,"  muttered  the  coxcomb  to 
himself,  as  he  fell  back  disdainfully  on  his  couch. 

"  Know  then,  my  Glaucus,"  said  Clodius,  "  that  lone 
is  a  stranger  who  has  but  lately  come  to  Pompeii.  She 
sings  like  Sappho,  and  her  songs  are  her  own  com- 
posing; and  as  for  the  tibia,  and  the  cithara,  and  the 
lyre,  I  know  not  in  which  she  most  outdoes  the  Muses. 
Her  beauty  is  most  dazzling.  Her  house  is  perfect ; 
such  taste — such  gems — such  bronzes  !  She  is  rich, 
and  generous  as  she  is  rich." 

"  Her  lovers,  of  course,"  said  Glaucus,  "  take  care 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          39 

that  she  does  not  starve ;  and  money  lightly  won  is  al- 
ways lavishly  spent." 

"  Her  lovers — ah,  there  is  the  enigma !  lone  has 
but  one  vice — she  is  chaste.  She  has  all  Portipeii  at 
her  feet,  and  she  has  no  lovers:  she  will  not  even 
marry." 

"  No  lovers !  "  echoed  Glaucus. 

"  No ;  she  has  the  soul  of  Vesta,  with  the  girdle  of 
Venus." 

"  What  refined  expressions !  "  said  the  umbra. 

"  A  miracle !  "  cried  Glaucus.  "  Can  we  not  see 
her?" 

"  I  will  take  you  there  this  evening,"  said  Clodius ; 

"  meanwhile ,"  added  he,  once  more  rattling  the 

dice. 

"  I  am  yours ! "  said  the  complaisant  Glaucus. 
"  Pansa,  turn  your  face !  " 

Lepidus  and  Sallust  played  at  odd  and  even,  and  the 
umbra  looked  on,  while  Glaucus  and  Clodius  became 
gradually  absorbed  in  the  chances  of  the  dice. 

"  By  Pollux !  "  cried  Glaucus,  "  this  is  the  second 
time  I  have  thrown  the  caniculae  "  (the  lowest  throw). 

"  Now  Venus  befriend  me !  "  said  Clodius,  rattling 
the  box  for  several  moments.  "  O  Alma  Venus — it 
is  Venus  herself !  "  as  he  threw  the  highest  cast,  named 
from  that  goddess, — whom  he  who  wins  money,  in- 
deed, usually  propitiates ! 

"  Venus  is  ungrateful  to  me/'  said  Glaucus,  gaily ; 
"  I  have  always  sacrificed  on  her  altar." 

"  He  who  plays  with  Clodius,"  whispered  Lepidus, 
"  will  soon,  like  Plautus's  Curculio,  put  his  pallium  for 
the  stakes." 

"  Poor  Glaucus ! — he  is  as  blind  as  Fortune  herself," 
replied  Sallust,  in  the  same  tone. 


40          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  I  will  play  no  more,"  said  Glaucus ;  "  I  have  lost 
thirty  sestertia." 

"  I  am  sorry ,"  began  Clodius. 

"  Amiable  man !  "  groaned  the  umbra. 

"  Not  at  all !  "  exclaimed  Glaucus ;  "  the  pleasure  I 
take  in  your  gain  compensates  the  pain  of  my  loss." 

The  conversation  now  grew  general  and  animated ; 
the  wine  circulated  more  freely ;  and  lone  once  more 
became  the  subject  of  eulogy  to  the  guests  of  Glaucus. 

"  Instead  of  outwatching  the  stars,  let  us  visit  one 
at  whose  beauty  the  stars  grow  pale,"  said  Lepidus. 

Clodius,  who  saw  no  chance  of  renewing  the  dice, 
seconded  the  proposal ;  and  Glaucus,  though  he  civilly 
pressed  his  guests  to  continue  the  banquet,  could  not 
but  let  them  see  that  his  curiosity  had  been  excited  by 
the  praises  of  lone:  they  therefore  resolved  to  adjourn 
(all  at  least,  but  Pansa  and  the  umbra)  to  the  house 
of  the  fair  Greek.  They  drank,  therefore,  to  the 
health  of  Glaucus  and  of  Titus — they  performed  their 
last  libation — they  resumed  their  slippers — they  de- 
scended the  stairs — passed  the  illumined  atrium — and 
walking  unbitten  over  the  fierce  dog  painted  on  the 
threshold,  found  themselves  beneath  the  light  of  the 
moon  just  risen,  in  the  lively  and  still  crowded  streets 
of  Pompeii. 

They  passed  the  jewellers'  quarters,  sparkling  with 
lights,  caught  and  reflected  by  the  gems  displayed  in 
the  shops,  and  arrived  at  last  at  the  door  of  lone.  The 
vestibule  blazed  with  rows  of  lamps;  curtains  of  em- 
broidered purple  hung  on  either  aperture  of  the  tabli- 
num,  whose  walls  and  mosaic  pavement  glowed  with 
the  richest  colours  of  the  artist ;  and  under  the  portico 
which  surrounded  the  odorous  viridarium  they  found 
lone,  already  surrounded  by  adoring  and  applauding 
guests ! 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          41 

"  Did  you  say  she  was  Athenian  ? "  whispered 
Glaucus,  ere  he  passed  into  the  peristyle. 

"  No,  she  is  from  Neapolis." 

"  Neapolis !  "  echoed  Glaucus ;  and  at  that  moment 
the  group  dividing  on  either  side  of  lone,  gave  to  his 
view  that  bright,  that  nymph-like  beauty,  which  for 
months  had  shone  down  upon  the  waters  of  his 
memory. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    TEMPLE    OF    ISIS. — ITS    PRIEST. THE    CHARACTER 

OF   ARBACES   DEVELOPS   ITSELF. 

The  story  returns  to  the  Egyptian.  We  left  Ar- 
baces  upon  the  shores  of  the  noonday  sea,  after  he  had 
parted  from  Glaucus  and  his  companion.  As  he  ap- 
proached to  the  more  crowded  part  of  the  bay,  he 
paused  and  gazed  upon  that  animated  scene  with  fold- 
ed arms,  and  a  bitter  smile  upon  his  dark  features. 

"  Gulls,  dupes,  fools,  that  ye  are !  "  muttered  he  to 
himself ;  "  whether  business  or  pleasure,  trade  or  re- 
ligion, be  your  pursuit,  you  are  equally  cheated  by  the 
passions  that  ye  should  rule!  How  I  could  loathe 
you,  if  I  did  not  hate — yes,  hate!  Greek  or  Roman, 
it  is  from  us,  from  the  dark  lore  of  Egypt,  that  ye 
have  stolen  the  fire  that  gives  you  souls.  Your 
knowledge — your  poesy — your  laws — your  arts — your 
barbarous  mastery  of  war  (all  how  tame  and  mutilated 
when  compared  with  the  vast  original!) — ye  have 
filched,  as  a  slave  filches  the  fragments  of  the  feast, 
from  us !  And  now,  ye  mimics  of  a  mimic ! — Romans, 
forsooth!  the  mushroom  herd  of  robbers!  ye  are  our 
masters !  The  pyramids  look  down  no  more  on  the 


42          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

race  of  Rameses — the  eagle  cowers  over  the  serpent 
of  the  Nile.  Our  masters — not  mine.  My  soul,  by 
the  power  of  its  wisdom,  controls  and  chains  you, 
though  the  fetters  are  unseen.  So  long  as  craft  can 
master  force,  so  long  as  religion  has  a  cave  from  which 
oracles  can  dupe  mankind,  the  wise  hold  an  empire 
over  earth.  Even  from  your  vices  Arbaces  distils  his 
pleasures; — pleasures  unprofaned  by  vulgar  eyes — 
pleasures  vast,  wealthy,  inexhaustible,  of  which  your 
enervate  minds,  in  their  unimaginative  sensuality,  can- 
not conceive  or  dream!  Plod  on,  plod  on,  fools  of 
ambition  and  of  avarice!  your  pretty  thirst  for  fasces 
and  quaestorships,  and  all  the  mummery  of  servile 
power,  provokes  my  laughter  and  my  scorn.  My 
power  can  extend  wherever  man  believes.  I  ride  over 
the  souls  that  the  purple  veils.  Thebes  may  fall, 
Egypt  be  a  name;  the  world  itself  furnishes  the  sub- 
jects of  Arbaces." 

Thus  saying,  the  Egyptian  moved  slowly  on;  and, 
entering  the  town,  his  tall  figure  towered  above  the 
crowded  throng  of  the  forum,  and  swept  towards  the 
small  but  graceful  temple  consecrated  to  Isis.1 

That  edifice  was  then  but  of  recent  erection ;  the 
ancient  temple  had  been  thrown  down  in  the  earth- 
quake sixteen  years  before,  and  the  new  building  had 
become  as  much  in  vogue  with  the  versatile  Pompeians 
as  a  new  church  or  a  new  preacher  may  be  with  us. 
The  oracles  of  the  goddess  at  Pompeii  were  indeed  re- 
markable, not  more  for  the  mysterious  language  in 
which  they  were  clothed,  than  for  the  credit  which  was 
attached  to  their  mandates  and  predictions.  If  they 
were  not  dictated  by  a  divinity,  they  were  framed  at 
least  by  a  profound  knowledge  of  mankind;  they  ap- 
1  See  note  (d)  at  the  end. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          43 

plied  themselves  exactly  to  the  circumstances  of  indi- 
viduals, and  made  a  notable  contrast  to  the  vague  and 
loose  generalities  of  their  rival  temples.  As  Arbaces 
now  arrived  at  the  rails  which  separated  the  profane 
from  the  sacred  place,  a  crowd,  composed  of  all  classes, 
but  especially  of  the  commercial,  collected,  breathless 
and  reverential,  before  the  many  altars  which  rose  in 
the  open  court.  In  the  walls  of  the  cella,  elevated  on 
seven  steps  of  Parian  marble,  various  statues  stood  in 
niches,  and  those  walls  were  ornamented  with  the 
pomegranate  consecrated  to  Isis.  An  oblong  pedestal 
occupied  the  interior  building,  on  which  stood  two 
statues,  one  of  Isis,  and  its  companion  represented  the 
silent  and  mystic  Orus.  But  the  building  contained 
many  other  deities  to  grace  the  court  of  the  Egyptian 
deity:  her  kindred  and  many-titled  Bacchus,  and  the 
Cyprian  Venus,  a  Grecian  disguise  for  herself,  rising 
from  her  bath,  and  the  dog-headed  Anubis,  and  the 
ox  Apis,  and  various  Egyptian  idols  of  uncouth  form 
and  unknown  appellations. 

But  we  must  not  suppose  that,  among  the  cities  of 
Magna  Grsecia,  Isis  was  worshipped  with  those  forms 
and  ceremonies  which  were  of  right  her  own.  The 
mongrel  and  modern  nations  of  the  South,  with  a  min- 
gled arrogance  and  ignorance,  confounded  the  wor- 
ships of  all  climes  and  ages.  And  the  profound  mys- 
teries of  the  Nile  were  degraded  by  a  hundred 
meretricious  and  frivolous  admixtures  from  the  creeds 
of  Cephisus  and  of  Tiber.  The  temple  of  Isis  in  Pom- 
peii was  served  by  Roman  and  Greek  priests,  ignorant 
alike  of  the  language  and  the  customs  of  her  ancient 
votaries;  and  the  descendant  of  the  dread  Egyptian 
kings,  beneath  the  appearance  of  reverential  awe,  se- 
cretly laughed  to  scorn  the  puny  mummeries  which 


44          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

imitated  the  solemn  and  typical  worship  of  his  burning 
clime. 

Ranged  now  on  either  side  the  steps  was  the  sacri- 
ficial crowd,  arrayed  in  white  garments,  while  at  the 
summit  stood  two  of  the  inferior  priests,  the  one  hold- 
ing a  palm-branch,  the  other  a  slender  sheaf  of  corn. 
In  the  narrow  passage  in  front  thronged  the  by- 
standers. 

"  And  what/'  whispered  Arbaces  to  one  of  the  by- 
standers, who  was  a  merchant  engaged  in  the  Alexan- 
drian trade,  which  trade  had  probably  first  introduced 
into  Pompeii  the  worship  of  the  Egyptian  goddess — 
"  what  occasion  now  assembles  you  before  the  altars 
of  the  venerable  Isis?  It  seems.,  by  the  white  robes 
of  the  group  before  me,  that  a  sacrifice  is  to  be  ren- 
dered ;  and  by  the  assembly  of  the  priests,  that  ye  are 
prepared  for  some  oracle.  To  what  question  is  it  to 
vouchsafe  a  reply  ?  " 

"We  are  merchants,"  replied  the  bystander  (who 
was  no  other  than  Diomed)  in  the  same  voice,  "  who 
seek  to  know  the  fate  of  our  vessels,  which  sail  for 
Alexandria  to-morrow.  We  are  about  to  offer  up  a 
sacrifice  and  implore  an  answer  from  the  goddess.  I 
am  not  one  of  those  who  have  petitioned  the  priest  to 
sacrifice,  as  you  may  see  by  my  dress,  but  "I  have  some 
interest  in  the  success  of  the  fleet ;  by  Jupiter !  yes.  I 
have  a  pretty  trade,  else  how  could  I  live  in  these  hard 
times?" 

The  Egyptian  replied  gravely, — "  That  though  Isis 
was  properly  the  goddess  of  agriculture,  she  was  no 
less  the  patron  of  commerce."  Then  turning  his  head 
towards  the  east,  Arbaces  seemed  absorbed  in  silent 
prayer. 

And  now  in  the  centre  of  the  steps  appeared  a  priest 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          45 

robed  in  white  from  head  to  foot,  the  veil  parting  over 
the  crown ;  two  new  priests  relieved  those  hitherto  sta- 
tioned at  either  corner,  being  naked  half-way  down  to 
the  breast,  and  covered,  for  the  rest,  in  white  and  loose 
robes.  At  the  same  time,  seated  at  the  bottom  of  the 
steps,  a  priest  commenced  a  solemn  air  upon  a  long 
wind-instrument  of  music.  Half-way  down  the  steps 
stood  another  flamen,  holding  in  one  hand  the  votive 
wreath,  in  the  other  a  white  wand;  while,  adding  to 
the  picturesque  scene  of  that  eastern  ceremony,  the 
stately  ibis  (bird  sacred  to  the  Egyptian  worship) 
looked  mutely  down  from  the  wall  upon  the  rite,  or 
stalked  beside  the  altar  at  the  base  of  the  steps. 
At  that  altar  now  stood  the  sacrificial  flamen.1 
The  countenance  of  Arbaces  seemed  to  lose  all  its 
rigid  calm  while  the  aruspices  inspected  the  entrails, 
and  to  be  intent  in  pious  anxiety — to  rejoice  and 
brighten  as  the  signs  were  declared  favourable,  and 
the  fire  began  bright  and  clearly  to  consume  the  sacred 
portion  of  the  victim  amidst  odours  of  myrrh  and 
frankincense.  It  was  then  that  a  dead  silence  fell  over 
the  whispering  crowd,  and  the  priests  gathering  round 
the  cella,  another  priest,  naked  save  by  a  cincture 
round  the  middle,  rushed  forward,  and  dancing  with 
wild  gestures,  implored  an  answer  from  the  goddess. 
He  ceased  at  last  in  exhaustion,  and  a  low  murmuring 
noise  was  heard  within  the  body  of  the  statue;  thrice 
the  head  moved,  and  the  lips  parted,  and  then  a  hollow 
voice  uttered  these  mystic  words: — 

"  There  are  waves  like  chargers  that  meet  and  glow, 
There  are  graves  ready  wrought  in  the  rocks  below ; 
On  the  brow  of  the  future  the  dangers  lour, 
But  blest  are  your  barks  in  the  fearful  hour." 

1  See  a  singular  picture  in  the  Museum  of  Naples,  of  an 
Egyptian  sacrifice. 


46          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  voice  ceased — the  crowd  breathed  more  freely 
— the  merchants  looked  at  each  other.  "  Nothing  can 
be  more  plain,"  murmured  Diomed ;  "  there  is  to  be  a 
storm  at  sea,  as  there  very  often  is  at  the  beginning  of 
autumn,  but  our  vessels  are  to  be  saved.  O  beneficent 
Isis!" 

"  Lauded  ,  eternally  be  the  goddess !  "  said  the 
merchants :  "  what  can  be  less  equivocal  than  her 
prediction  ?  " 

Raising  one  hand  in  sign  of  silence  to  the  people, 
for  the  rites  of  Isis  enjoined  what  to  the  lively  Pom- 
peians  was  an  impossible  suspense  from  the  use  of  the 
vocal  organs,  the  chief  priest  poured  his  libation  on  the 
altar,  and  after  a  short  concluding  prayer  the  cere- 
mony was  over,  and  the  congregation  dismissed.  Still, 
however,  as  the  crowd  dispersed  themselves  here  and 
there,  the  Egyptian  lingered  by  the  railing,  and  when 
the  space  became  tolerably  cleared,  one  of  the  priests, 
approaching  it,  saluted  him  with  great  appearance  of 
friendly  familiarity. 

The  countenance  of  the  priest  was  remarkably  un- 
prepossessing. His  shaven  skull  was  so  low  and  nar- 
row in  front  as  nearly  to  approach  to  the  conformation 
of  that  of  an  African  savage,  save  only  towards  the 
temples,  where,  in  that  organ  styled  acquisitiveness  by 
the  pupils  of  a  science  modern  in  name,  but  best  prac- 
tically known  (as  their  sculpture  teaches  us)  amongst 
the  ancients,  two  huge  and  almost  preternatural  pro- 
tuberances yet  more  distorted  the  unshapely  head: — 
around  the  brows  the  skin  was  puckered  into  a  web 
of  deep  and  intricate  wrinkles — the  eyes,  dark  and 
small,  rolled  in  a  muddy  and  yellow  orbit — the  nose, 
short  yet  coarse,  was  distended  at  the  nostrils  like  a 
satyr's — and  the  thick  but  pallid  lips,  the  high  cheek- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          47 

bones,  the  livid  and  motley  hues  that  struggled 
through  the  parchment  skin,  completed  a  countenance 
which  none  could  behold  without  repugnance,  and  few 
without  terror  and  distrust.  Whatever  the  wishes  of 
the  mind,  the  animal  frame  was  well  fitted  to  execute 
them;  the  wiry  muscles  of  the  throat,  the  broad  chest, 
the  nervous  hands  and  lean  gaunt  arms,  which  were 
bared  above  the  elbow,  betokened  a  form  capable  alike 
of  great  active  exertion  and  passive  endurance. 

"  Calenus,"  said  the  Egyptian  to  this  fascinating 
flamen,  "  you  have  improved  the  voice  of  the  statue 
much  by  attending  to  my  suggestion ;  and  your  verses 
are  excellent.  Always  prophesy  good  fortune,  unless 
there  is  an  absolute  impossibility  of  its  fulfilment." 

"  Besides,"  added  Calenus,  "  if  the  storm  does  come, 
and  if  it  does  overwhelm  the  accursed  ships,  have  we 
not  prophesied  it  ?  and  are  the  barks  not  blest  to  be  at 
rest? — -for  rest  prays  the  mariner  in  the  ^gean  sea, 
or  at  least  so  says  Horace;  can  the  mariner  be  more 
at  rest  in  the  sea  than  when  he  is  at  the  bottom  of  it?  " 

"  Right,  my  Calenus ;  I  wish  Apaecides  would  take  a 
lesson  from  your  wisdom.  But  I  desire  to  confer  with 
you  relative  to  him  and  to  other  matters :  you  can  ad- 
mit me  into  one  of  your  less  sacred  apartments  ?  " 

"  Assuredly,"  replied  the  priest,  leading  the  way  to 
one  of  the  small  chambers  which  surrounded  the  open 
gate.  Here  they  seated  themselves  before  a  small  table 
spread  with  dishes  containing  fruit  and  eggs,  and  vari- 
ous cold  meats,  with  vases  of  excellent  wine,  of  which 
while  the  companions  partook,  a  curtain,  drawn  across 
the  entrance  opening  to  the  court,  concealed  them  from 
view,  but  admonished  them  by  the  thinness  of  the  par- 
tition to  speak  low,  or  to  speak  no  secrets :  they  chose 
the  former  alternative. 


48          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Thou  knowest,"  said  Arbaces,  in  a  voice  that 
scarcely  stirred  the  air,  so  soft  and  inward  was  its 
sound,  "  that  it  has  ever  been  my  maxim  to  attach  my- 
self to  the  young.  From  their  flexile  and  unformed 
minds  I  can  carve  out  my  fittest  tools.  I  weave — I 
warp — I  mould  them  at  my  will.  Of  the  men  I  make 
merely  followers  or  servants ;  of  the  women " 

"  Mistresses,"  said  Calenus  as  a  livid  grin  distorted 
his  ungainly  features. 

"  Yes,  I  do  not  disguise  it ;  woman  is  the  main  ob- 
ject, the  great  appetite  of  my  soul.  As  you  feed  the 
victim  for  the  slaughter,  /  love  to  rear  the  votaries  of 
my  pleasure.  I  love  to  train,  to  ripen  their  minds — 
to  unfold  the  sweet  blossom  of  their  hidden  passions, 
in  order  to  prepare  the  fruit  to  my  taste.  I  loathe  your 
ready-made  and  ripened  courtesans;  it  is  in  the  soft 
and  unconscious  progress  of  innocence  to  desire  that  I 
find  the  true  charm  of  love ;  it  is  thus  that  I  defy  sati- 
ety ;  and  by  contemplating  the  freshness  of  others,  I 
sustain  the  freshness  of  my  own  sensations.  From  the 
young  hearts  of  my  victims  I  draw  the  ingredients  of 
the  caldron  in  which  I  re-youth  myself.  But  enough 
of  this :  to  the  subject  before  us.  You  know,  then,  that 
in  Neapolis  some  time  since  I  encountered  lone  and 
Apaecides,  brother  and  sister,  the  children  of  Atheni- 
ans who  had  settled  at  Neapolis.  The  death  of  their 
parents,  who  knew  and  esteemed  me,  constituted  me 
their  guardian.  I  was  not  unmindful  of  the  trust. 
The  youth,  docile  and  mild,  yielded  readily  to  the  im- 
pression I  sought  to  stamp  upon  him.  Next  to  woman, 
I  love  the  old  recollections  of  my  ancestral  land ;  I  love 
to  keep  alive — to  propagate  on  distant  shores  (which 
her  colonies  perchance  yet  people)  her  dark  and  mystic 
creeds.  It  may  be,  that  it  pleases  me  to  delude  man- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          49 

kind,  while  I  thus  serve  the  deities.  To  Apaecides  I 
taught  the  solemn  faith  of  Isis.  I  unfolded  to  him 
something  of  those  sublime  allegories  which  are 
couched  beneath  her  worship.  I  excited  in  a  soul  pe- 
culiarly alive  to  religious  fervour  that  enthusiasm  which 
imagination  begets  on  faith.  I  have  placed  him 
amongst  you :  he  is  one  of  you." 

"  He  is  so,"  said  Calenus :  "  but  in  thus  stimulating 
his  faith,  you  have  robbed  him  of  wisdom.  He  is  hor- 
ror-struck that  he  is  no  longer  duped :  our  sage  delu- 
sions, our  speaking  statues  and  secret  staircases  dismay 
and  revolt  him ;  he  pines ;  he  wastes  away ;  he  mutters 
to  himself;  he  refuses  to  share  our 'ceremonies.  He 
has  been  known  to  frequent  the  company  of  men  sus- 
pected of  adherence  to  .that  new  and  atheistical  creed 
which  denies  all  our  gods,  and  terms  our  oracles  the 
inspirations  of  that  malevolent  spirit  of  which  eastern 
tradition  speaks.  Our  oracles — alas !  we  know  well 
whose  inspirations  they  are !  " 

"  This  is  what  I  feared,"  said  Arbaces,  musingly, 
"  from  various  reproaches  he  made  me  when  I  last  saw 
him.  Of  late  he  hath  shunned  my  steps:  I  must  find 
him :  I  must  continue  my  lessons :  I  must  lead  him  into 
the  adytum  of  Wisdom.  I  must  teach  him  that  there 
are  two  stages  of  sanctity — the  first,  FAITH — the  next, 
DELUSION  ;  the  one  for  the  vulgar,  the  second  for  the 
sage." 

"  I  never  passed  through  the  first,"  said  Calenus ; 
"  nor  you  either,  I  think,  my  Arbaces." 

"  You  err,"  replied  the  Egyptian,  gravely.  "  I  be- 
lieve at  this  day  (not  indeed  that  which  I  teach,  but  that 
which  I  teach  not),  Nature  has  a  sanctity  against  which 
I  cannot  (nor  would  I)  steel  conviction.  I  believe  in 
mine  own  knowledge,  and  that  has  revealed  to  me, — 
4 


50          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

but  no  matter.  Now  to  earthlier  and  more  inviting 
themes.  If  I  thus  fulfilled  my  object  with  Apaecides, 
what  was  my  design  for  lone  ?  Thou  knowest  already 
I  intend  her  for  my  queen — my  bride — my  heart's  I  sis. 
Never  till  I  saw  her  knew  I  all  the  love  of  which  my 
nature  is  capable." 

"  I  hear  from  a  thousand  lips  that  she  is  a  second 
Helen,"  said  Calenus;  and  he  smacked  his  own  lips, 
but  whether  at  the  wine  or  at  the  notion  it  is  not  easy 
to  decide. 

"  Yes,  she  has  a  beauty  that  Greece  itself  never  ex- 
celled," resumed  Arbaces.  "  But  that  is  not  all :  she  has 
a  soul  worthy  to  match  with  mine.  She  has  a  genius 
beyond  that  of  woman — keen — dazzling — bold.  Poetry 
flows  spontaneous  to  her  lips:  utter  but  a  truth,  and, 
however  intricate  and  profound,  her  mind  seizes  and 
commands  it.  Her  imagination  and  her  reason  are 
not  at  war  with  each  other ;  they  harmonise  and  direct 
her  course  as  the  winds  and  the  waves  direct  some  lofty 
bark.  With  this  she  unites  a  daring  independence  of 
thought ;  she  can  stand  alone  in  the  world ;  she  can  be 
brave  as  she  is  gentle ;  this  is  the  nature  I  have*  sought 
all  my  life  in  woman,  and  never  found  till  now.  lone 
must  be  mine !  In  her  I  have  a  double  passion ;  I  wish 
to  enjoy  a  beauty  of  spirit  as  of  form." 

"  She  is  not  yours  yet,  then  ?  "  said  the  priest. 

"  No ;  she  loves  me — but  as  a  friend : — she  loves  me 
with  her  mind  only.  She  fancies  in  me  the  paltry  vir- 
tues which  I  have  only  the  profounder  virtue  to  dis- 
dain. But  you  must  pursue  with  me  her  history.  The 
brother  and  sister  were  young  and  rich :  lone  is  proud 
and  ambitious — proud  of  her  genius — the  magic  of  her 
poetry — the  charm  of  her  conversation.  When  her 
brother  left  me,  and  entered  your  temple,  in  order  to 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          51 

be  near  him  she  removed  also  to  Pompeii.  She  has 
suffered  her  talents  to  be  known.  She  summons 
crowds  to  her  feasts;  her  voice  enchants  them;  her 
poetry  subdues.  She  delights  in  being  thought  the  suc- 
cessor of  Erinna." 

"  Or  of  Sappho  ?  " 

"  But  Sappho  without  love !  I  encouraged  her  in 
this  boldness  of  career — in  this  indulgence  of  vanity 
and  of  pleasure.  I  loved  to  steep  her  amidst  the  dis- 
sipations and  luxury  of  this  abandoned  city.  Mark 
me,  Calenus !  I  desired  to  enervate  her  mind ! — it  has 
been  too  pure  to  receive  yet  the  breath  which  I  wish 
not  to  pass,  but  burningly  to  eat  into,  the  mirror.  I 
wished  her  to  be  surrounded  by  lovers,  hollow,  vain, 
and  frivolous  (lovers  that  her  nature  must  despise),  in 
order  to  feel  the  want  of  love.  Then,  in  those  soft  in- 
tervals of  lassitude  that  succeed  to  excitement,  I  can 
weave  my  spells — excite  her  interest — attract  her  pas- 
sions— possess  myself  of  her  heart.  For  it  is  not  the 
young,  nor  the  beautiful,  nor  the  gay,  that  should  fas- 
cinate lone ;  her  imagination  must  be  won,  and  the  life 
of  Arbaces  has  been  one  scene  of  triumph  over  the  im- 
aginations of  his  kind." 

"  And  hast  thou  no  fear,  then,  of  thy  rivals  ?  The 
gallants  of  Italy  are  skilled  in  the  art  to  please." 

"  None !  Her  Greek  soul  despises  the  barbarian  Ro- 
mans, and  would  scorn  itself  if  it  admitted  a  thought 
of  love  for  one  of  that  upstart  race." 

"  But  thou  art  an  Egyptian,  not  a  Greek !  " 

"  Egypt,"  replied  Arbaces,  "  is  the  mother  of  Athens. 
Her  tutelary  Minerva  is  our  deity;  and  her  founder, 
Cecrops,  was  the  fugitive  of  Egyptian  Sais.  This  have 
I  already  taught  to  her ;  and  in  my  blood  she  venerates 
the  eldest  dynasties  of  earth.  But  yet  I  will  own  that 


52          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

of  late  some  uneasy  suspicions  have  crossed  my  mind. 
She  is  more  silent  than  she  used  to  be ;  she  loves  mel- 
ancholy and  subduing  music ;  she  sighs  without  an  out- 
ward cause.  This  may  be  the  beginning  of  love — it 
may  be  the  want  of  love.  In  either  case  it  is  time  for 
.  me  to  begin  my  operations  on  her  fancies  and  her  heart : 
in  the  one  case,  to  divert  the  source  of  love  to  me;  in 
the  other,  in  me  to  awaken  it.  It  is  for  this  that  I  have 
sought  you." 

"  And  how  can  I  assist  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  about  to  invite  her  to  a  feast  in  my  house :  I 
wish  to  dazzle — to  bewilder — to  inflame  her  senses. 
Our  arts — the  arts  by  which  Egypt  trained  her  young 
novitiates — must  be  employed ;  and,  under  veil  of  the 
mysteries  of  religion,  I  will  open  to  her  the  secrets  of 
love." 

"  Ah !  now  I  understand : — one  of  those  voluptuous 
banquets  that,  despite  our  dull  vows  of  mortified  cold- 
ness, we,  thy  priests  of  Isis,  have  shared  at  thy  house." 

"  No,  no !  Thinkest  thou  her  chaste  eyes  are  ripe  for 
such  scenes  ?  No ;  but  first  we  must  ensnare  the  brother 
— an  easier  task.  Listen  to  me,  while  I  give  you  my 
instructions." 


CHAPTER  V 

MORE  OF  THE  FLOWER  GIRL. — THE  PROGRESS  OF  LOVE. 

The  sun  shone  gaily  into  that  beautiful  chamber  in 
the  house  of  Glaucus,  which  I  have  before  said  is  now 
called  "  the  Room  of  Leda."  The  morning  rays  en- 
tered through  rows  of  small  casements  at  the  higher 
part  of  the  room,  and  through  the  door  which  opened 
on  the  garden,  that  answered  to  the  inhabitants  of  the 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  53 

southern  cities  the  same  purpose  that  a  greenhouse  or 
conservatory  does  to  us.  The  size  of  the  garden  did 
not  adapt  it  for  exercise,  but  the  various  and  fragrant 
plants  with  which  it  was  filled  gave  a  luxury  to  that 
indolence  so  dear  to  the  dwellers  in  a  sunny  clime.  And 
now  the  odours,  fanned  by  a  gentle  wind  creeping  from 
the  adjacent  sea,  scattered  themselves  over  that  cham- 
ber, whose  walls  vied  with  the  richest  colours  of  the 
most  glowing  flowers.  Besides  the  gem  of  the  room — 
the  painting  of  Leda  and  Tyndarus — in  the  centre  of 
each  compartment  of  the  walls  were  set  other  pictures 
of  exquisite  beauty.  In.  one  you  saw  Cupid  leaning  on 
the  knees  of  Venus ;  in  another  Ariadne  sleeping  on  the 
beach,  unconscious  of  the  perfidy  of  Theseus.  Merrily 
the  sunbeams  played  to  and  fro  on  the  tesselated  floor 
and  the  brilliant  walls — far  more  happily  came  the  rays 
of  joy  to  the  heart  of  the  young  Glaucus. 

"  I  have  seen  her,  then,"  said  he,  as  he  paced  that 
narrow  chamber — "  I  have  heard  her — nay,  I  have 
spoken  to  her  again — I  have  listened  to  the  music  of 
her  song,  and  she  sung  of  glory  and  of  Greece.  I  have 
discovered  the  long-sought  idol  of  my  dreams ;  and 
like  the  Cyprian  sculptor,  I  have  breathed  life  into  my 
own  imaginings." 

Longer,  perhaps,  had  been  the  enamoured  soliloquy 
of  Glaucus,  but  at  that  moment  a  shadow  darkened  the 
threshold  of  the  chamber,  and  a  young  female,  still 
half  a  child  in  years,  broke  upon  his  solitude.  She  was 
dressed  simply  in  a  white  tunic,  which  reached  from 
the  neck  to  the  ankles  ;  under  her  arm  she  bore  a  basket 
of  flowers,  and  in  the  other  hand  she  held  a  bronze 
water-vase;  her  features  were  more  formed  than  ex- 
actly became  her  years,  yet  they  were  soft  and 
feminine  in  their  outline,  and,  without  being  beautiful 


54          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

in  themselves,  they  were  almost  made  so  by  their  beauty 
of  expression ;  there  was  something  ineffably  gentle, 
and  you  would  say  patient,  in  her  aspect.  A  look  of  re- 
signed sorrow,  of  tranquil  endurance,  had  banished  the 
smile,  but  not  the  sweetness,  from  her  lips ;  something 
timid  and  cautious  in  her  step — something  wandering 
in  her  eyes,  led  you  to  suspect  the  affliction  which  she 
had  suffered  from  her  birth: — she  was  blind;  but  in 
the  orbs  themselves  there  was  no  visible  defect — their 
melancholy  and  subdued  light  was  clear,  cloudless,  and 
serene.  "  They  tell  me  that  Glaucus  is  here,"  said  she ; 
"  may  I  come  in  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  Nydia,"  said  the  Greek,  "  is  that  you  ?  I 
knew  you  would  not  neglect  my  invitation." 

"  Glaucus  did  but  justice  to  himself,"  answered 
Nydia,  with  a  blush ;  "  for  he  has  always  been  kind  to 
the  poor  blind  girl." 

"  Who  could  be  otherwise  ?  "  said  Glaucus,  tenderly, 
and  in  the  voice  of  a  compassionate  brother. 

Nydia  sighed  and  paused  before  she  resumed,  with- 
out replying  to  his  remark.  "  You  have  but  lately  re- 
turned?" 

"  This  is  the  sixth  sun  that  hath  shone  upon  me  at 
Pompeii." 

"  And  you  are  well  ?  Ah,  I  need  not  ask — for  who 
that  sees  the  earth,  which  they  tell  me  is  so  beautiful, 
can  be  ill?" 

"  I  am  well.  And  you,  Nydia — how  you  have 
grown !  Next  year  you  will  be  thinking  what  answer 
to  make  your  lovers." 

A  second  blush  passed  over  the  cheek  of  Nydia,  but 
this  time  she  frowned  as  she  blushed.  "  I  have  brought 
you  some  flowers,"  said  she,  without  replying  to  a  re- 
mark that  she  seemed  to  resent ;  and  feeling  about  the 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  55 

room  till  she  found  the  table  that  stood  by  Glaucus,  she 
laid  the  basket  upon  it :  "  they  are  poor,  but  they  are 
fresh-gathered." 

"  They  might  come  from  Flora  herself,"  said  he, 
kindly ;  "  and  I  renew  again  my  vow  to  the  Graces,  that 
I  will  wear  no  other  garlands  while  thy  hands  can 
weave  me  such  as  these." 

"  And  how  find  you  the  flowers  in  your  viridarium  ? 
— are  they  thriving  ?  " 

"  Wonderfully  so — the  Lares  themselves  must  have 
tended  them." 

"  Ah,  now  you  give  me  pleasure ;  for  I  came,  as 
often  as  I  could  steal  the  leisure,  to  water  and  tend 
them  in  your  absence." 

"  How  shall  I  thank  thee,  fair  Nydia  ?  "  said  the 
Greek.  "  Glaucus  little  dreamed  that  he  left  one  mem- 
ory so  watchful  over  his  favourites  at  Pompeii." 

The  hand  of  the  child  trembled,  and  her  breast 
heaved  beneath  her  tunic.  She  turned  round  in  em- 
barrassment. "  The  sun  is  hot  for  the  poor  flowers," 
said  she,  "  to-day  and  they  will  miss  me ;  for  I  have 
been  ill  lately,  and  it  is  nine  days  since  I  visited  them." 

"  111,  Nydia ! — yet  your  cheek  has  more  colour  than 
it  had  last  year." 

"  I  am  often  ailing,"  said  the  blind  girl,  touchingly ; 
"  and  as  I  grow  up  I  grieve  more  that  I  am  blind.  But 
now  to  the  flowers !  "  So  saying,  she  made  a  slight  rev- 
erence with  her  head,  and  passing  into  the  viridarium, 
busied  herself  with  watering  the  flowers. 

"  Poor  Nydia,"  thought  Glaucus,  gazing  on  her ; 
"  thine  is  a  hard  doom !  Thou  seest  not  the  earth — 
nor  the  sun — nor  the  ocean — nor  the  stars ; — above  all, 
thou  canst  not  behold  lone." 

At  that  last  thought  his  mind  flew  back  to  the  past 


56          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

evening,  and  was  a  second  time  disturbed  in  its  reveries 
by  the  entrance  of  Clodius.  It  was  a  proof  how  much 
a  single  evening  had  sufficed  to  increase  and  to  refine 
the  love  of  the  Athenian  for  lone,  that  whereas  he  had 
confided  to  Clodius  the  secret  of  his  first  interview  with 
her,  and  the  effect  it  had  produced  on  him,  he  now 
felt  an  invincible  aversion  even  to  mention  to  him  her 
name.  He  had  seen  lone,  bright,  pure,  unsullied,  in 
the  midst  of  the  gayest  and  most  profligate  gallants 
of  Pompeii,  charming  rather  than  awing  the  boldest 
into  respect,  and  changing  the  very  nature  of  the  most 
sensual  and  the  least  ideal : — as  by  her  intellectual  and 
refining  spells  she  reversed  the  fable  of  Circe,  and  con- 
verted the  animals  into  men.  They  who  could  not  un- 
derstand her  soul  were  made  spiritual,  as  it  were,  by 
the  magic  of  her  beauty ; — they  who  had  no  heart  for 
poetry  had  ears,  at  least  for  the  melody  of  her  voice. 
Seeing  her  thus  surrounded,  purifying  and  brightening 
all  things  with  her  presence,  Glaucus  almost  for  the 
first  time  felt  the  nobleness  of  his  own  nature, — he  felt 
how  unworthy  of  the  goddess  of  his  dreams  had  been 
his  companions  and  his  pursuits.  A  veil  seemed  lifted 
from  his  eyes ;  he  saw  that  immeasurable  distance  be- 
tween himself  and  his  associates  which  the  deceiving 
mists  of  pleasure  had  hitherto  concealed :  he  was  re- 
fined by  a  sense  of  his  courage  in  aspiring  to  lone.  He 
felt  that  henceforth  it  was  his  destiny  to  look  upward 
and  to  soar.  He  could  no  longer  breathe  that  name, 
which  sounded  to  the  sense  of  his  ardent  fancy  some- 
thing sacred  and  divine,  to  Jewd  and  vulgar  ears.  She 
was  no  longer  the  beautiful  girl  once  seen  and  passion- 
ately remembered, — she  was  already  the  mistress,  the 
divinity  of  his  soul.  This  feeling  who  has  not  expe- 
rienced?— If  thou  hast  not,  then  thou  hast  never  loved. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  57 

When  Clodius  therefore  spoke  to  him  in  affected 
transports  of  the  beauty  of  lone,  Glaucus  felt  only  re- 
sentment and  disgust  that  such  lips  should  dare  to 
praise  her;  he  answered  coldly,  and  the  Roman  im- 
agined that  his  passion  was  cured  instead  of  height- 
ened. Clodius  scarcely  regretted  it,  for  he  was  anxious 
that  Glaucus  should  marry  an  heiress  yet  more  richly 
endowed — Julia,  the  daughter  of  the  wealthy  Diomed, 
whose  gold  the  gamester  imagined  he  could  readily  di- 
vert into  his  own  coffers.  Their  conversation  did  not 
flow  with  its  usual  ease  ;  and  no  sooner  had  Clodius  left 
him  than  Glaucus  bent  his  way  to  the  house  of  lone.  In 
passing  by  the  threshold  he  again  encountered  Nydia, 
who  had  finished  her  graceful  task.  She  knew  his  step 
on  the  instant. 

"  You  are  early  abroad  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Yes,  for  the  skies  of  Campania  rebuke  the  slug- 
gard who  neglects  them." 

"  Ah,  would  I  could  see  them ! "  murmured  the 
blind  girl,  but  so  low  that  Glaucus  did  not  overhear  the 
complaint. 

The  Thessalian  lingered  on  the  threshold  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then  guiding  her  steps  by  a  long  staff,  which 
she  used  with  great  dexterity,  she  took  her  way  home- 
ward. She  soon  turned  from  the  more  gaudy  streets, 
and  entered  a  quarter  of  the  town  but  little  loved  by 
the  decorous  and  the  sober.  But  from  the  low  and 
rude  evidences  of  vice  around  her  she  was  saved  by 
her  misfortune.  And  at  that  hour  the  streets  were 
quiet  and  silent,  nor  was  her  youthful  ear  shocked  by 
the  sounds  which  too  often  broke  along  the  obscene  and 
obscure  haunts  she  patiently  and  sadly  traversed. 

She  knocked  at  the  back  door  of  a  sort  of  tavern ;  it 
opened,  and  a  rude  voice  bade  her  give  an  account  of 


58          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

the  sesterces.  Ere  she  could  reply,  another  voice,  less 
vulgarly  accented,  said — 

"  Never  mind  those  petty  profits,  my  Burbo.  The 
girl's  voice  will  be  wanted  again  soon  at  our  rich 
friend's  revels ;  and  he  pays,  as  thou  knowest,  pretty 
high  for  his  nightingales'  tongues." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not — I  trust  not,"  cried  Nydia,  trem- 
bling ;  "  I  will  beg  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  but  send  me 
not  there." 

"  And  why  ?  "  asked  the  same  voice. 

"  Because — because  I  am  young,  and  delicately  born, 
and  the  female  companions  I  meet  there  are  not  fit  asso- 
ciates for  one  who — who " 

"  Is  a  slave  in  the  house  of  Burbo,"  returned  the 
vo;ce  ironically,  and  with  a  coarse  laugh. 

The  Thessalian  put  down  her  flowers,  and,  leaning 
her  face  on  her  hands,  wept  silently. 

Meanwhile  Glaucus  sought  the  house  of  the  beau- 
tiful Neapolitan.  He  found  lone  sitting  amidst  her  at- 
tendants, who  were  at  work  around  her.  Her  harp 
stood  at  her  side,  for  lone  herself  was  unusually  idle, 
perhaps  unusually  thoughtful,  that  day.  He  thought 
her  even  more  beautiful  by  the  morning  light,  and  in 
her  simple  robe,  than  amidst  the  blazing  lamps,  and 
decorated  with  the  costly  jewels  of  the  previous  night: 
not  the  less  so  from  a  certain  paleness  that  overspread 
her  transparent  hues, — not  the  less  so  from  the  blush 
that  mounted  over  them  when  he  approached.  Ac- 
customed to  flatter,  flattery  died  upon  his  lips  when 
he  addressed  lone.  He  felt  it  beneath  her  to  utter  the 
homage  which  every  look  conveyed.  They  spoke  of 
Greece ;  this  was  a  theme  on  which  lone  loved  rather 
to  listen  than  to  converse:  it  was  a  theme  on  which 
the  Greek  could  have  been  eloquent  for  ever.  He 


59 

described  to  her  the  silver  olive  groves  that  yet  clad 
the  banks  of  Ilissus,  and  the  temples,  already  despoiled 
of  half  their  glories — but  how  beautiful  in  decay !  He 
looked  back  on  the  melancholy  city  of  Harmodius  the 
free,  and  Pericles  the  magnificent,  from  the  height  of 
that  distant  memory  which  mellowed  into  no  hazy 
light  all  the  ruder  and  darker  shades.  He  had  seen 
the  land  of  poetry  chiefly  in  the  poetical  age  of  early 
youth ;  and  the  associations  of  patriotism  were  blended 
with  those  of  the  flush  and  the  spring  of  life.  And 
lone  listened  to  him,  absorbed  and  mute ;  dearer  were 
those  accents,  and  those  descriptions,  than  all  the 
prodigal  adulation  of  her  numberless  adorers.  Was 
it  a  sin  to  love  her  countrymen?  she  loved  Athens  in 
him — the  gods  of  her  race,  the  land  of  her  dreams, 
spoke  to  her  in  his  voice!  From  that  time  they  daily 
saw  each  other.  At  the  cool  of  the  evening  they  made 
excursions  on  the  placid  sea.  By  night  they  met  again 
in  Tone's  porticoes  and  halls.  Their  love  was  sudden, 
but  it  was  strong ;  it  filled  all  the  sources  of  their  life. 
Heart — brain — sense — imagination,  all  were  its  minis- 
ters and  priests.  As  you  take  some  obstacle  from  two 
objects  that  have  a  mutual  attraction,  they  met,  and 
united  at  once ;  their  wonder  was,  that  they  had  lived 
separate  so  long.  And  it  was  natural  that  they  should 
so  love.  Young,  beautiful,  and  gifted — of  the  same 
birth,  and  the  same  souls ; — there  was  poetry  in  their 
very  union.  They  imagined  the  heavens  smiled  upon 
their  affection.  As  the  persecuted  seek  refuge  at  the 
shrine,  so  they  recognised  in  the  altar  of  their  love  an 
asylum  from  the  sorrows  of  earth  ;  they  covered  it  with 
flowers — they  knew  not  of  the  serpents  that  lay  coiled 
behind. 

One  evening,  the  fifth  after  their  first  meeting  at 


60          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Pompeii,  Glaucus  and  lone,  with  a  small  party  of 
chosen  friends,  were  returning  from  an  excursion 
round  the  bay ;  their  vessel  skimmed  lightly  over  the 
twilight  waters,  whose  lucid  mirror  was  only  broken 
by  the  dripping  oars.  As  the  rest  of  the  party  con- 
versed gaily  with  each  other,  Glaucus  lay  at  the  feet  of 
lone,  and  he  would  have  looked  up  in  her  face,  but  he 
did  not  dare.  lone  broke  the  pause  between  them. 

"  My  poor  brother,"  said  she,  sighing,  "  how  once 
he  would  have  enjoyed  this  hour!  " 

"  Your  brother,"  said  Glaucus ;  "  I  have  not  seen 
him.  Occupied  with  you,  I  have  thought  of  nothing 
else,  or  I  should  have  asked  if  that  was  not  your  brother 
for  whose  companionship  you  left  me  at  the  Temple  of 
Minerva,  in  Neapolis  ?  " 

"  It  was."  , 

"And  is  he  here?" 

"  He  is." 

"  At  Pompeii !  and  not  constantly  with  you  ?  Impos- 
sible!" 

"  He  has  other  duties,"  answered  lone,  sadly ;  "  he  is 
a  priest  of  Isis." 

"  So  young,  too;  and  that  priesthood,  in  its  laws  at 
least,  so  severe !  "  said  the  warm  and  bright-hearted 
Greek,  in  surprise  and  pity.  "  What  could  have  been 
his  inducement  ?  " 

"  He  was  always  enthusiastic  and  fervent  in  relig- 
ious devotion :  and  the  eloquence  of  an  Egyptian — our 
friend  and  guardian — kindled  in  him  the  pious  desire 
to  consecrate  his  life  to  the  most  mystic  of  our  deities. 
Perhaps,  in  the  intenseness  of  his  zeal,  he  found  in  the 
severity  of  that  peculiar  priesthood  its  peculiar  attrac- 
tion." 

"  And  he  does  not  repent  his  choice  ? — I  trust  he  is 
happy." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          61 

lone  sighed  deeply,  and  lowered  her  veil  over  her 
eyes. 

"  I  wish,"  said  she,  after  a  pause,  "  that  he  had  not 
been  so  hasty.  Perhaps,  like  all  who  expect  too  much, 
he  is  revolted  too  easily !  " 

"  Then  he  is  not  happy  in  his  new  condition.  And 
this  Egyptian,  was  he  a  priest  himself?  was  he  inter- 
ested in  recruits  to  the  sacred  band  ?  " 

"  No.  His  main  interest  was  in  our  happiness.  He 
thought  he  promoted  that  of  my  brother.  We  were  left 
orphans." 

"  Like  myself,"  said  Glaucus,  with  a  deep  meaning 
in  his  voice. 

lone  cast  down  her  eyes  as  she  resumed, — 

"  And  Arbaces  sought  to  supply  the  place  of  our 
parent.  You  must  know  him.  He  loves  genius." 

"  Arbaces  !  I  know  him  already ;  at  least,  we  speak 
when  we  meet.  But  for  your  praise  I  would  not  seek 
to  know  more  of  him.  My  heart  inclines  readily  to 
most  of  my  kind.  But  that  dark  Egyptian,  with  his 
gloomy  brow  and  icy  smiles,  seems  to'  me  to  sadden  the 
very  sun.  One  would  think  that,  like  Epimenides,  the 
Cretan,  he  had  spent  forty  years  in  a  cave,  and  had 
found  something  unnatural  in  the  daylight  ever  after- 
wards." 

"  Yet,  like  Epimenides,  he  is  kind,  and  wise,  and 
gentle,"  answered  lone. 

"Oh,  happy  that  he  has  thy  praise!  He  needs  no 
other  virtues  to  make  him  dear  to  me." 

"  His  calm,  his  coldness,"  said  lone,  evasively  pur- 
suing the  subject,  "  are  perhaps  but  the  exhaustion  of 
past  sufferings;  as  yonder  mountain  (and  she  pointed 
to  Vesuvius),  which  we  see  dark  and  tranquil  in  the 
distance,  once  nursed  the  fires  for  ever  quenched/' 


62          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

They  both  gazed  on  the  mountain  as  lone  said  these 
words ;  the  rest  of  the  sky  was  bathed  in  rosy  and  ten- 
der hues,  but  over  that  grey  summit,  rising  amidst 
the  woods  and  vineyards  that  then  clomb  half-way  up 
the  ascent,  there  hung  a  black  and  ominous  cloud,  the 
single  frown  of  the  landscape.  A  sudden  and  unac- 
countable gloom  came  over  each  as  they  thus  gazed; 
and  in  that  sympathy  which  love  had  already  taught 
them,  and  which  bade  them,  in  the  slightest  shadows 
of  emotion,  the  faintest  presentiment  of  evil,  turn  for 
refuge  to  each  other,  their  gaze  at  the  same  moment 
left  the  mountain,  and,  full  of  unimaginable  tender- 
ness, met.  What  need  had  they  of  words  to  say  they 
loved  ? 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  FOWLER  SNARES  AGAIN  THE  BIRD  THAT  HAD  JUST 
ESCAPED,  AND  SETS  HIS  NETS  FOR  A  NEW  VICTIM. 

In  the  history  I  relate,  the  events  are  crowded  and 
rapid  as  those  of  the  drama.  I  write  of  an  epoch  in 
which  days  sufficed  to  ripen  the  ordinary  fruits  of 
years. 

Meanwhile,  Arbaces  had  not  of  late  much  frequented 
the  house  of  lone ;  and  when  he  had  visited  her  he  had 
not  encountered  Glaucus,  nor  knew  he,  as  yet,  of  that 
love  which  had  so  suddenly  sprung  up  between  him- 
self and  his  designs.  In  his  interest  for  the  brother 
of  lone,  he  had  been  forced,  too,  a  little  while,  to  sus- 
pend his  interest  in  lone  herself.  His  pride  and  his 
selfishness  were  aroused  and  alarmed  at  the  sudden 
change  which  had  come  over  the  spirit  of  the  youth. 
He  trembled  lest  he  himself  should  lose  a  docile  pupil, 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          63 

and  Isis  an  enthusiastic  servant.  Apaecides  had  ceased 
to  seek  or  to  consult  him.  He  was  rarely  to  be  found ; 
he  turned  sullenly  from  the  Egyptian, — nay,  he  fled 
when  he  perceived  him  in  the  distance.  Arbaces  was 
one  of  those  haughty  and  powerful  spirits  accustomed 
to  master  others ;  he  chafed  at  the  notion  that  one  once 
his  own  should  ever  elude  his  grasp.  He  swore  inly 
that  Apaecides  should  not  escape  him. 

It  was  with  this  resolution  that  he  passed  through  a 
thick  grove  in  the  city,  which  lay  between  his  house 
and  that  of  lone,  in  his  way  to  the  latter;  and  there, 
leaning  against  a  tree,  and  gazing  on  the  ground,  he 
came  unawares  on  the  young  priest  of  Isis. 

"  Apsecides !  "  said  he, — and  he  laid  his  hand  af- 
fectionately on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 

The  priest  started ;  and  his  first  instinct  seemed  to  be 
that  of  flight.  "  My  son,"  said  the  Egyptian,  "  what 
has  chanced  that  you  desire  to  shun  me  ?  " 

Apaecides  remained  silent  and  sullen,  looking  down 
on  the  earth,  as  his  lips  quivered,  and  his  breast  heaved 
with  emotion. 

"  Speak  to  me,  my  friend,"  continued  the  Egyptian. 
"  Speak.  Something  burdens  thy  spirit.  What  hast 
thou  to  reveal  ?  " 

"  To  thee— nothing." 

"  And  why  is  it  to  me  thou  art  thus  unconfidential  ?  " 

"  Because  thou  hast  been  my  enemy." 

"  Let  us  confer,"  said  Arbaces,  in  a  low  voice ;  and 
drawing  the  reluctant  arm  of  the  priest  in  his  own,  he 
led  him  to  one  of  the  seats  which  were  scattered  within 
the  grove.  They  sat  down, — and  in  those  gloomy  forms 
there  was  something  congenial  to  the  shade  and  solitude 
of  the  place. 

Apaecides  was  in  the  spring  of  his  years,  yet  he 


64          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

seemed  to  have  exhausted  even  more  of  life  than  the 
Egyptian ;  his  delicate  and  regular  features  were  worn 
and  colourless ;  his  eyes  were  hollow,  and  shone  with 
a  brilliant  and  feverish  glare;  his  frame  bowed  pre- 
maturely, and  in  his  hands,  which  were  small  to 
effeminacy,  the  blue  and  swollen  veins  indicated  the 
lassitude  and  weakness  of  the  relaxed  fibres.  You 
saw  in  his  face  a  strong  resemblance  of  lone,  but  the 
expression  was  altogether  different  from  that  majesticj 
and  spiritual  calm  which  breathed  so  divine  and  clas- 
sical a  repose  over  his  sister's  beauty.  In  her,  enthu- 
siasm was  visible,  but  it  seemed  always  suppressed 
and  restrained ;  this  made  the  charm  and  sentiment  of 
her  countenance ;  you  longed  to  awaken  a  spirit  which 
reposed,  but  evidently  did  not  sleep.  In  Apaecides  the 
whole  aspect  betokened  the  fervour  and  passion  of  his 
temperament,  and  the  intellectual  portion  of  his  nature 
seemed,  by  the  wild  fire  of  the  eyes,  the  great  breadth 
of  the  temples  when  compared  with  the  height  of  the 
brow,  the  trembling  restlessness  of  the  lips,  to  be 
swayed  and  tyrannised  over  by  the  imaginative  and 
ideal.  Fancy,  with  the  sister,  had  stopped  short  at  the 
golden  goal  of  poetry ;  with  the  brother,  less  happy  and 
less  restrained,  it  had  wandered  into  visions  more  in- 
tangible and  unembodied ;  and  the  faculties  which  gave 
genius  to  the  one  threatened  madness  to  the  other. 

"  You  say  I  have  been  your  enemy,"  said  Arbaces. 
"  I  know  the  cause  of  that  unjust  accusation :  I  have 
placed  you  amidst  the  priests  of  Tsis — you  are  revolted 
at  their  trickeries  and  imposture — you  think  that  I  too 
have  deceived  you — the  purity  of  your  mind  is  offended 
— you  imagine  that  I  am  one  of  the  deceitful " 

"  You  knew  the  jugglings  of  that  impious  craft," 
answered  Apaecides ;  "  why  did  you  disguise  them 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          65 

from  me?  When  you  excited  my  desire  to  devote  my- 
self to  the  office  whose  garb  I  bear,  you  spoke  to  me 
of  the  holy  life  of  men  resigning  themselves-  to  knowl- 
edge— you  have  given  me  for  companions  an  ignorant 
and  sensual  herd,  who  have  no  knowledge  but  that  of 
the  grossest  frauds ; — you  spoke  to  me  of  men  sac- 
rificing the  earthlier  pleasures  to  the  sublime  cultiva- 
tion of  virtue — you  place  me  amongst  men  reeking 
with  all  the  filthiness  of  vice ; — you  spoke  to  me  of  the 
friends,  the  enlighteners  of  our  common  kind — I  see 
but  their  cheats  and  deluders !  Oh !  it  was  basely  done ! 
— you  have  robbed  me  of  the  glory  of  youth,  of  the 
convictions  of  virtue,  of  the  sanctifying  thirst  after 
wisdom.  Young  as  I  was,  rich,  fervent,  the  sunny 
pleasures  of  earth  before  me,  I  resigned  all  without  a 
sigh,  nay,  with  happiness  and  exultation,  in  the  thought 
that  I  resigned  them  for  the  abstruse  mysteries  of  di- 
viner wisdom,  for  the  companionship  of  gods — for  the 
revelations  of  Heaven — and  now — now " 

Convulsive  sobs  checked  the  priest's  voice:  he  cov- 
ered his  face  with  his  hands,  and  large  tears  forced 
themselves  through  the  wasted  fingers,  and  ran  pro- 
fusely down  his  vest. 

"  What  I  promised  to  thee,  that  will  I  give,  my  ] 
friend,  my  pupil:  these  have  been  but  trials  to  thy 
virtue — it  comes  forth  the  brighter  for  thy  novitiate, — 
think  no  more  of  those  dull  cheats — assort  no  more 
with  those  menials  of  the  goddess,  the  atrienses  *  of 
her  hall — you  are  worthy  to  enter  into  the  penetralia. 
I  henceforth  will  be  your  priest,  your  guide,  and  you 
who  now  curse  my  friendship  shall  live  to  bless  it." 

The  young  man  lifted  up  his  head,  and  gazed  with 
a  vacant  and  wondering  stare  upon  the  Egyptian. 

1  The  slaves  who  had  the  care  of  the  atrium. 
5 


66          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Listen  to  me,"  continued  Arbaces,  in  an  earnest 
and  solemn  voice,  casting  first  his  searching  eyes 
around  to  see  that  they  were  still  alone.  "  From  Egypt 
came  all  the  knowledge  of  the  world;  from  Egypt 
came  the  lore  of  Athens,  and  the  profound  policy  of 
Crete;  from  Egypt  came  those  early  and  mysterious 
tribes  which  (long  before  the  hordes  of  Romulus 
swept  over  the  plains  of  Italy,  and  in  the  eternal  cycle 
of  events  drove  back  civilisation  into  barbarism  and 
darkness)  possessed  all  the  arts  of  wisdom  and  the 
graces  of  intellectual  life.  From  Egypt  came  the  rites 
and  the  grandeur  of  that  solemn  Caere,  whose  inhabi- 
tants taught  their  iron  vanquishers  of  Rome  all  that 
they  yet  know  of  elevated  in  religion  and  sublime  in 
worship.  And  how  deemest  thou,  young  man,  that 
that  dread  Egypt,  the  mother  of  countless  nations, 
achieved  her  greatness,  and  soared  to  her  cloud-capt 
eminence  of  wisdom  ? — It  was  the  result  of  a  profound 
and  holy  policy.  Your  modern  nations  owe  their  great- 
ness to  Egypt — Egypt  her  greatness  to  her  priests. 
Rapt  in  themselves,  coveting  a  sway  over  the  nobler 
part  of  man,  his  soul  and  his  belief,  those  ancient  min- 
isters of  God  were  inspired  with  the  grandest  thought 
that  ever  exalted  mortals.  From  the  revolutions  of  the 
stars,  from  the  seasons  of  the  earth,  from  the  round 
and  unvarying  circle  of  human  destinies,  they  devised 
an  august  allegory ;  they  made  it  gross  and  palpable  to 
the  vulgar  by  the  signs'  of  gods  and  goddesses,  and 
that  which  in  reality  was  Government  they  named  Re- 
ligion. Isis  is  a  fable — start  not ! — that  for  which  Isis 
is  a  type  is  a  reality,  an  immortal  being;  Isis  is  noth- 
ing. Nature,  which  she  represents,  is  the  mother  of 
all  things — dark,  ancient,  inscrutable,  save  to  the 
gifted  few.  '  None  among  mortals  hath  ever  lifted 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          67 

up  my  veil/  so  saith  the  Isis  that  you  adore ;  but  to  the 
wise  that  veil  hath  been  removed,  and  we  have  stood 
face  to  face  with  the  solemn  loveliness  of  Nature.  The 
priests  then  were  the  benefactors,  the  civilised  of  man- 
kind ;  true,  they  were  also  cheats,  impostors  if  you  will. 
But  think  you,  young  man,  that  if  they  had  not  deceived 
their  kind  they  could  have  served  them  ?  The  ignorant 
and  servile  vulgar  must  be  blinded  to  attain  to  their 
proper  good ;  they  would  not  believe  a  maxim ;  they 
revere  an  oracle.  The  Emperor  of  Rome  sways  the 
vast  and  various  tribes  of  earth,  and  harmonises  the 
conflicting  and  disunited  elements ;  thence  come  peace, 
order,  law,  the  blessings  of  life.  Think  you  it  is  the 
man,  the  emperor,  that  thus  sways? — no,  it  is  the 
pomp,  the  awe,  the  majesty  that  surround  him — these 
are  his  impostures,  his  delusions ;  our  oracles  and  our 
divinations,  our  rites  and  our  ceremonies,  are  the 
means  of  our  sovereignty  and  the  engines  of  our 
power.  They  are  the  same  means  to  the  same  ends, 
the  welfare  and  harmony  of  mankind.  You  listen  to 
me  rapt  and  intent — the  light  begins  to  dawn  upon 
you." 

Apsecides  remained  silent,  but  the  changes  rapidly 
passing  over  his  speaking  countenance  betrayed  the 
effect  produced  upon  him  by  the  words  of  the  Egyptian 
— words  made  tenfold  more  eloquent  by  the  voice,  the 
aspect,  and  the  manner  of  the  man. 

"  While  then,"  resumed  Arbaces,  "  our  fathers  of 
the  Nile  thus  achieved  the  first  elements  by  whose  life 
chaos  is  destroyed,  namely,  the  obedience  and  rever- 
ence of  the  multitude  for  the  few,  they  drew  from  their 
majestic  and  starred  meditations  that  wisdom  which 
was  no  delusion :  they  invented  the  codes  and  regulari- 
ties of  law — the  arts  and  glories  of  existence.  They 


68          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

asked  belief;  they  returned  the  gift  by  civilisation. 
Were  not  their  very  cheats  a  virtue?  Trust  me,  who- 
soever in  yon  far  heavens  of  a  diviner  and  beneficent 
nature  look  down  upon  our  world,  smile  approvingly 
on  the  wisdom  which  has  worked  such  ends.  But  you 
wish  me  to  apply  these  generalities  to  yourself ;  I  hasten 
to  obey  the  wish.  The  altars  of  the  goddess  of  our  an- 
cient faith  must  be  served,  and  served  too  by  others 
than  the  stolid  and  soulless  things  that  are  but  pegs 
and  hooks  whereon  to  hang  the  fillet  and  the  robe.  Re- 
member two  sayings  of  Sextus  the  Pythagorean,  say- 
ings borrowed  from  the  lore  of  Egypt.  The  first  is, 
'  Speak  not  of  God  to  the  multitude ; '  the  second  is, 
'  The  man  worthy  of  God  is  a  god  among  men.'  As 
Genius  gave  to  the  ministers  of  Egypt  worship,  that 
empire  in  late  ages  so  fearfully  decayed,  thus  by 
Genius  only  can  the  dominion  be  restored.  I  saw  in 
you,  Apaecides,  a  pupil  worthy  of  my  lessons — a  min- 
ister worthy  of  the  great  ends  which  may  yet  be 
wrought:  your  energy,  your  talents,  your  purity  of 
faith,  your  earnestness  of  enthusiasm,  all  fitted  you  for 
that  calling  which  demands  so  imperiously  high  and 
ardent  qualities:  I  fanned,  therefore,  your  sacred  de- 
sires ;  I  stimulated  you  to  the  step  you  have  taken.  But 
you  blame  me  that  I  did  not  reveal  to  you  the  little 
souls  and  the  juggling  tricks  of  your  companions.  Had 
I  done  so,  Apaecides,  I  had  defeated  my  own  object: 
your  noble  nature  would  have  at  once  revolted,  and 
Isis  would  have  lost  her  priest." 

Apsecides  groaned  aloud.  The  Egyptian  continued, 
without  heeding  the  interruption. 

"  I  placed  you,  therefore,  without  preparation,  in 
the  temple;  I  left  you  suddenly  to  discover  and  to  be 
sickened  by  all  those  mummeries  which  dazzled  the 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          69 

herd.  I  desired  that  you  should  perceive  how  those 
engines  are  moved  by  which  the  fountain  that  re- 
freshes the  world  casts  its  waters  in  the  air.  It  was 
the  trial  ordained  of  old  to  all  our  priests.  They  who 
accustom  themselves  to  the  impostures  of  the  vulgar, 
are  left  to  practise  them ; — for  those  like  you,  whose 
higher  natures  demand  higher  pursuit,  religion  opens 
more  godlike  secrets.  I  am  pleased  to  find  in  you  the 
character  I  had  expected.  You  have  taken  the  vows; 
you  cannot  recede.  Advance — I  will  be  your  guide." 

"  And  what  wilt  thou  teach  me,  O  singular  and  fear- 
ful man  ?  New  cheats — new " 

"  No — I  have  thrown  thee  into  the  abyss  of  disbe- 
lief ;  I  will  lead  thee  now  to  the  eminence  of  faith.  Thou 
hast  seen  the  false  types :  thou  shalt  learn  now  the 
realities  they  represent.  There  is  no  shadow,  Apsecides, 
without  its  substance.  Come  to  me  this  night.  Your 
hand." 

Impressed,  excited,  bewildered  by  the  language  of 
the  Egyptian,  Apaecides  gave  him  his  hand,  and  master 
and  pupil  parted. 

It  was  true  that  for  Apsecides  there  was  no  retreat. 
He  had  taken  the  vows  of  celibacy:  he  had  devoted 
himself  to  a  life  that  at  present  seemed  to  possess  all 
the  austerities  of  fanaticism,  without  any  of  the  con- 
solations of  belief.  It  was  natural  that  he  should  yet 
cling  to  a  yearning  desire  to  reconcile  himself  to  an 
irrevocable  career.  The  powerful  and  profound  mind 
of  the  Egyptian  yet  claimed  an  empire  over  his  young 
imagination;  excited  him  with  vague  conjecture,  and 
kept  him  alternately  vibrating  between  hope  and  fear. 

Meanwhile  Arbaces  pursued  his  slow  and  stately  way 
to  the  house  of  lone.  As  he  entered  the  tablinum,  he 
heard  a  voice  from  the  porticoes  of  the  peristyle  be- 


70          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

yond,  which,  musical  as  it  was,  sounded  displeasingly 
on  his  ear — it  was  the  voice  of  the  young  and  beautiful 
Glaucus,  and  for  the  first  time  an  involuntary  thrill 
of  jealousy  shot  through  the  breast  of  the  Egyptian. 
On  entering  the  peristyle,  he  found  Glaucus  seated  by 
the  side  of  lone.  The  fountain  in  the  odorous  garden 
cast  up  its  silver  spray  in  the  air,  and  kept  a  delicious 
coolness  in  the  midst  of  the  sultry  noon.  The  hand- 
maids, almost  invariably  attendant  on  lone,  who  with 
her  freedom  of  life  preserved  the  most  delicate  mod- 
esty, sat  at  a  little  distance ;  by  the  feet  of  Glaucus  lay 
the  lyre  on  which  he  had  been  playing  to  lone  one  of 
the  Lesbian  airs.  The  scene — the  group  before  Ar- 
baces — was  stamped  by  that  peculiar  and  refined 
ideality  of  poesy  which  we  yet,  not  erroneously,  im- 
agine to  be  the  distinction  of  the  ancients, — the  marble 
columns,  the  vases  of  flowers,  the  statue,  white  and 
tranquil,  closing  every  vista;  and,  above  all,  the  two 
living  forms,  from  which  a  sculptor  might  have  caught 
either  inspiration  or  despair ! 

Arbaces,  pausing  for  a  moment,  gazed  on  the  pair 
with  a  brow  from  which  all  the  usual  stern  serenity 
had  fled ;  he  recovered  himself  by  an  effort,  and  slowly 
approached  them,  but  with  a  step  so  soft  and  echoless, 
that  even  the  attendants  heard  him  not ;  much  less  lone 
and  her  lover. 

"  And  yet,"  said  Glaucus,  "  it  is  only  before  we  love 
that  we  imagine  that  our  poets  have  truly  described  the 
passion ;  the  instant  the  sun  rises,  all  the  stars  that  had 
shone  in  his  absence  vanish  into  air.  The  poets  exist 
only  in  the  night  of  the  heart ;  they  are  nothing  to  us 
when  we  feel  the  full  glory  of  the  god." 

"  A  gentle  and  most  glowing  image,  noble  Glaucus." 

Both  started,  and  recognised  behind  the  seat  of  lone 
the  cold  and  sarcastic  face  of  the  Egyptian. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          71 

"  You  are  a  sudden  guest,"  said  Glaucus,  rising,  and 
with  a  forced  smile. 

"  So  ought  all  to  be  who  know  they  are  welcome," 
returned  Arbaces,  seating  himself,  and  motioning  to 
Glaucus  to  do  the  same. 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  lone,  "  to  see  you  at  length  to- 
gether ;  for  you  are  suited  to  each  other,  and  you  are 
formed  to  be  friends." 

"  Give  me  back  some  fifteen  years  of  life,"  replied 
the  Egyptian,  "  before  you  can  place  me  on  an  equality 
with  Glaucus.  Happy  should  I  be  to  receive  his  friend- 
ship ;  but  what  can  I  give  him  in  return  ?  Can  I  make 
to  him  the  same  confidences  that  he  would  repose  in  me 
— of  banquets  and  garlands — of  Parthian  steeds,  and 
the  chances  of  the  dice?  these  pleasures  suit  his  age, 
his  nature,  his  career :  they  are  not  for  mine." 

So  saying,  the  artful  Egyptian  looked  down  and 
sighed  ;  but  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  stole  a  glance 
towards  lone,  to  see  how  she  received  these  insinuations 
of  the  pursuits  of  her  visitor.  Her  countenance  did  not 
satisfy  him.  Glaucus,  slightlv  colouring,  hastened 
gaily  to  reply.  Nor  was  he,  perhaps,  without  the  wish 
in  his  turn  to  disconcert  and  abash  the  Egyptian. 

"  You  are  right,  wise  Arbaces,"  said  he ;  "  we  can 
esteem  each  other,  but  we  cannot  be  friends.  My  ban- 
quets lack  the  secret  salt,  which,  according  to  rumour, 
gives  such  zest  to  your  own.  And,  by  Hercules !  when 
I  have  reached  your  age,  if  I,  like  you,  mav  think  it 
wise  to  pursue  the  pleasures  of  manhood,  like  you,  I 
shall  be  doubtless  sarcastic  on  the  gallantries  of 
youth." 

The  Egyptian  raised  his  eyes  to  Glaucus  with  a  sud- 
den and  piercing  glance. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  he,  coldly ;  "  but  it 


72          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

is  the  custom  to  consider  that  wit  lies  in  obscurity." 
He  turned  from  Glaucus  as  he  spoke,  with  a  scarcely 
perceptible  sneer  of  contempt,  and  after  a  moment's 
pause  addressed  himself  to  lone.  "  I  have  not,  beau- 
tiful lone,"  said  he,  "  been  fortunate  enough  to  find 
you  within  doors  the  last  two  or  three  times  that  I  have 
visited  your  vestibule." 

"  The  smoothness  of  the  sea  has  tempted  me  much 
from  home,"  replied  lone,  with  a  little  embarrassment. 

The  embarrassment  did  'not  escape  Arbaces;  but 
without  seeming  to  heed  it,  he  replied  with  a  smile: 
"  You  know  the  old  poet  says,  that  '  Women  should 
keep  within  doors,  and  there  converse.'  " * 

"  The  poet  was  a  cynic,"  said  Glaucus,  "  and  hated 
women." 

"  He  spake  according  to  the  customs  of  his  country, 
and  that  country  is  your  boasted  Greece." 

"  To  different  periods  different  customs.  Had  our 
forefathers  known  lone,  they  had  made  a  different 
law." 

"  Did  you  learn  these  pretty  gallantries  at  Rome  ?  " 
said  Arbaces,  with  ill-suppressed  emotion. 

"  One  certainly  would  not  go  for  gallantries  to 
Egypt,"  retorted  Glaucus,  playing  carelessly  with  his 
chain. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  lone,  hastening  to  interrupt  a 
conversation  which  she  saw,  to  her  great  distress,  was 
so  little  likely  to  cement  the  intimacy  she  had  desired 
to  effect  between  Glaucus  and  her  friend.  "  Arbaces 
must  not  be  so  hard  upon  his  poor  pupil.  An  orphan, 
and  without  a  mother's  care,  I  may  be  to  blame  for 
the  independent  and  almost  masculine  liberty  of  life 
that  I  have  chosen :  yet  it  is  not  greater  than  the  Roman 
1  Euripides. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          73 

women  are  accustomed  to — it  is  not  greater  than  the 
Grecian  ought  to  be.  Alas !  is  it  only  to  be  among  men 
that  freedom  and  virtue  are  to  be  deemed  united  ?  Why 
should  the  slavery  that  destroys  you  be  considered  the 
only  method  to  preserve  us?  Ah!  believe  me,  it  has 
been  the  great  error  of  men — and  one  that  has  worked 
bitterly  on  their  destinies — to  imagine  that  the  nature 
of  women  is  (I  will  not  say  inferior,  that  may  be  so, 
but)  so  different  from  their  own,  in  making  laws  un- 
favourable to  the  intellectual  advancement  of  women. 
Have  they  not,  in  so  doing,  made  laws  against  their 
children,  whom  women  are  to  rear? — against  the  hus- 
bands, of  whom  women  are  to  be  the  friends,  nay, 
sometimes  the  advisers  ?  "  lone  stopped  short  sud- 
denly, and  her  face  was  suffused  with  the  most  en- 
chanting blushes.  She  feared  lest  her  enthusiasm  had 
led  her  too  far ;  yet  she  feared  the  austere  Arbaces  less 
than  the  courteous  Glaucus,  for  she  loved  the  last,  and 
it  was  not  the  custom  of  the  Greeks  to  allow  their 
women  (at  least  such  of  their  women  as  they  most 
honoured)  the  same  liberty  and  the  same  station  as 
those  of  Italy  enjoyed.  She  felt,  therefore,  a  thrill  of 
delight  as  Glaucus  earnestly  replied, — 

"  Ever  mayst  thou  think  thus,  lone — ever  be  your 
pure  heart  your  unerring  guide!  Happy  it  had  been 
for  Greece  if  she  had  given  to  the  chaste  the  same  in- 
tellectual charms  that  are  so  celebrated  amongst  the 
less  worthy  of  her  women.  No  state  falls  from  freedom 
— from  knowledge,  while  your  sex  smile  only  on  the 
free,  and  by  appreciating,  encourage  the  wise." 

Arbaces  was  silent,  for  it  was  neither  his  part  to 
sanction  the  sentiment  of  Glaucus,  nor  to  condemn  that 
of  lone ;  and  after  a  short  and  embarrassed  conversa- 
tion, Glaucus  took  his  leave  of  lone. 


74          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

When  he  was  gone,  Arbaces,  drawing  his  seat  nearer 
to  the  fair  Neapolitan's,  said  in  those  bland  and  sub- 
dued tones,  in  which  he  knew  so  well  how  to  veil  the 
mingled -art  and  fierceness  of  his  character, — 

"  Think  not,  my  sweet  pupil,  if  so  I  may  call  you, 
that  I  wish  to  shackle  that  liberty  you  adorn  while 
you  assume:  but  which,  if  not  greater,  as  you  rightly 
observe,  than  that  possessed  by  the  Roman  women, 
must  at  least  be  accompanied  by  great  circumspection, 
when  arrogated  by  one  unmarried.  Continue  to  draw 
crowds  of  the  gay,  the  brilliant,  the  wise  themselves, 
to  your  feet — continue  to  charm  them  with  the  con- 
versation of  an  Aspasia,  the  music  of  an  Erinna — but 
reflect,  at  least, -on  those  censorious  tongues  which  can 
so  easily  blight  the  tender  reputation  of  a  maiden ;  and 
while  you  provoke  admiration,  give,  I  beseech  you,  no 
victory  to  envy." 

"  What  mean  you,  Arbaces  ? "  said  lone,  in  an 
alarmed  and  trembling  voice :  "  I  know  you  are  my 
friend,  that  you  desire  only  my  honour  and  my  welfare. 
What  is  it  you  would  say?  " 

"  Your  friend — ah,  how  sincerely !  May  I  speak 
then  as  a  friend,  without  reserve  and  without  offence  ?  " 

"  I  beseech  you  do  so." 

"  This  young  profligate,  this  Glaucus,  how  didst  thou 
know  him  ?  Hast  thou  seen  him  often  ?  "  And  as  Ar- 
baces spoke,  he  fixed  his  gaze  steadfastly  upon  lone,  as 
if  he  sought  to  penetrate  into  her  soul. 

Recoiling  before  that  gaze,  with  a  strange  fear  which 
she  could  not  explain,  the  Neapolitan  answered  with 
confusion  and  hesitation, — "  He  was  brought  to  my 
house  as  a  countryman  of  my  father's  and  I  may  say  of 
mine.  I  have  known  him  only  within  this  last  week  or 
so :  but  why  these  questions  ?  " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          75 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Arbaces ;  "  I  thought  you  might 
have  known  him  longer.  Base  insinuator  that  he  is !  " 

"  How  !  what  mean  you  ?    Why  that  term  ?  " 

"  It  matters  not :  let  me  not  rouse  your  indignation 
against  one  who  does  not  deserve  so  grave  an  honour." 

"  I  implore  you  speak.  What  has  Glaucus  in- 
sinuated? or  rather  in  what  do  you  suppose  he  has 
offended?" 

Smothering  his  resentment  at  the  last  part  of  lone's 
question,  Arbaces  continued, — "  You  know  his  pur- 
suits, his  companions,  his  habits ;  the  comissatio  and 
the  alea  (the  revel  and  the  dice)  make  his  occupation  ; — 
and  amongst  the  associates  of  vice  how  can  he  dream 
of  virtue  ?  " 

"Still  you  speak  riddles.  By  the  gods!  I  entreat 
you,  say  the  worst  at  once." 

"  Well,  then,  it  must  be  so.  Know,  my  lone,  that 
it  was  but  yesterday  that  Glaucus  boasted  openly — 
yes,  in  the  public  baths — of  your  love  to  him.  He  said 
it  aniused  him  to  take  advantage  of  it.  Nay,  I  will  do 
him  justice,  he  praised  your  beauty.  Who  could  deny 
it?  But  he  laughed  scornfully  when  his  Clodius,  or 
his  Lepidus,  asked  him  if  he  loved  you  enough  for 
marriage,  and  when  he  purposed  to  adorn  his  door- 
posts with  flowers  ?  " 

"  Impossible !     How  heard  you  this  base  slander  ?  " 

"  Nay,  would  you  have  me  relate  to  you  all  the  com- 
ments of  the  insolent  coxcombs  with  which  the  story 
has  circled  through  the  town?  Be  assured  that  I  my- 
self disbelieved  at  first,  and  that  I  have  now  painfully 
been  convinced  by  several  ear-witnesses  of  the  truth  of 
what  I  have  reluctantly  told  thee." 

lone  sank  back,  and  her  face  was  whiter  than  the 
pillar  against  which  she  leaned  for  support. 


76          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  I  own  it  vexed — it  irritated  me,  to  hear  your  name 
thus  lightly  pitched  from  lip  to  lip,  like  some  mere 
dancing-girl's  fame.  I  hastened  this  morning  to  seek 
and  to  warn  you.  I  found  Glaucus  here.  I  was  stung 
from  my  self-possession.  I  could  not  conceal  my  feel- 
ings ;  nay,  I  was  uncourteous  in  thy  presence.  Canst 
thou  forgive  thy  friend,  lone  ?  " 

lone  placed  her  hand  in  his,  but  replied  not. 

"  Think  no  more  of  this,"  said  he ;  "  but  let  it  be  a 
warning  voice  to  tell  thee  how  much  prudence  thy  lot 
requires.  It  cannot  hurt  thee,  lone,  for  a  moment ;  for 
a  gay  thing  like  this  could  never  have  been  honoured 
by  even  a  serious  thought  from  lone.  These  insults 
only  wound  when  they  come  from  one  we  love;  far 
different  indeed  is  he  whom  the  lofty  lone  shall  stoop 
to  love." 

"  Love !  "  muttered  lone,  with  an  hysterical  laugh. 
"  Ay,  indeed." 

It  is  not  without  interest  to  observe  in  those  remote 
times,  and  under  a  social  system  so  widely  different 
from  the  modern,  the  same  small  causes  that  ruffle  and 
interrupt  the  "  course  of  love,"  which  operate  so  com- 
monly at  this  day; — the  same  inventive  jealousy,  the 
same  cunning  slander,  the  same  crafty  and  fabricated 
retailings  of  petty  gossip,  which  so  often  now  suffice 
to  break  the  ties  of  the  truest  love,  and  counteract  the 
tenor  of  circumstances  most  apparently  propitious. 
When  the  bark  sails  on  over  the  smoothest  wave,  the 
fable  tells  us  of  the  diminutive  fish  that  can  cling  to 
the  keel  and  arrest  its  progress :  so  is  it  ever  with  the 
great  passions  of  mankind ;  and  we  should  paint  life 
but  ill  if,  even  in  times  the  most  prodigal  of  romance, 
and  of  the  romance  of  which  we  most  largely  avail 
ourselves,  we  did  not  also  describe  the  mechanism  of 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII  77 

those  trivial  and  household  springs  of  mischief  which 
we  see  every  day  at  work  in  our  chambers  and  at  our 
hearths.  It  is  in  these,  the  lesser  intrigues  of  life,  that 
we  mostly  find  ourselves  at  home  with  the  past. 

Most  cunningly  had  the  Egyptian  appealed  to  lone's 
ruling  foible — most  dexterously  had  he  applied  the 
poisoned  dart  to  her  pride.  He  fancied  he  had  arrested 
what  he  hoped,  from  the  shortness  of  the  time  she  had 
known  Glaucus,  was,  at  most,  but  an  incipient  fancy ; 
and  hastening  to  change  the  subject,  he  now  led  her  to 
talk  of  her  brother.  Their  conversation  did  not  last 
long.  He  left  her,  resolved  not  again  to  trust  so  much 
to  absence,  but  to  visit — to  watch  her — every  day. 

No  sooner  had  his  shadow  glided  from  her  presence, 
than  woman's  pride — her  sex's  dissimulation — de- 
serted his  intended  victim,  and  the  haughty  lone  burst 
into  passionate  tears. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  GAY  LIFE  OF  THE  POMPEIAN   LOUNGER. A  MINIA- 
TURE LIKENESS  OF  THE  ROMAN  BATHS. 

When  Glaucus  left  lone,  he  felt  as  if  he  trod  upon 
air.  In  the  interview  with  which  he  had  just  been 
blessed,  he  had  for  the  first  time  gathered  from  her 
distinctly  that  his  love  was  not  unwelcome  to,  and 
would  not  be  unrewarded  by,  her.  This  hope  filled  him 
with  a  rapture  for  which  earth  and  heaven  seemed  too 
narrow  to  afford  a  vent.  Unconscious  of  the  sudden 
enemy  he  had  left  behind,  and  forgetting  not  only  his 
taunts  but  his  very  existence,  Glaucus  passed  through 
the  gay  streets,  repeating  to  himself,  in  the  wantonness 
of  joy,  the  music  of  the  soft  air  to  which  lone  had 


78          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

listened  with  such  intentness ;  and  now  he  entered  the 
Street  of  Fortune,  with  its  raised  footpath — its  houses 
painted  without,  and  the  open  doors  admitting  the  view 
of  the  glowing  frescoes  within.  Each  end  of  the  street 
was  adorned  with  a  triumphal  arch:  and  as  Glaucus 
now  came  before  the  Temple  of  Fortune,  the  jutting 
portico  of  that  beautiful  fane  (which  is  supposed  to 
have  been  built  by  one  of  the  family  of  Cicero,  per- 
haps by  the  orator  himself)  imparted  a  dignified  and 
venerable  feature  to  a  scene  otherwise  more  brilliant 
than  lofty  in  its  character.  That  temple  was  one  of  the 
most  graceful  specimens  of  Roman  architecture.  It 
was  raised  on  a  somewhat  lofty  podium;  and  between 
two  flights  of  steps  ascending  to  a  platform  stood  the 
altar  of  the  goddess.  From  this  platform  another  flight 
of  broad  stairs  led  to  the  portico,  from  the  height  of 
whose  fluted  columns  hung  festoons  of  the  richest 
flowers.  On  either  side  the  extremities  of  the  temple 
were  placed  statues  of  Grecian  workmanship ;  and  at 
a  little  distance  from  the  temple  rose  the  triumphal 
arch  crowned  with  an  equestrian  statue  of  Caligula, 
which  was  flanked  by  trophies  of  bronze.  In  the  space 
before  the  temple  a  lively  throng  was  assembled — some 
seated  on  benches  and  discussing  the  politics  of  the  em- 
pire, some  conversing  on  the  approaching  spectacle  of 
the  amphitheatre.  One  knot  of  young  men  were  laud- 
ing a  new  beauty,  another  discussing  the  merits  of  the 
last  play;  a  third  group,  more  stricken  in  age,  were 
speculating  on  the  chance  of  the  trade  with  Alexandria, 
and  amidst  these  were  many  merchants  in  the  Eastern 
costume,  whose  loose  and  peculiar  robes,  painted  and 
gemmed  slippers,  and  composed  and  serious  counte- 
nances, formed  a  striking  contrast  to  the  tuniced  forms 
and  animated  gestures  of  the  Italians.  For  that  impa- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          79 

tient  and  lively  people  had,  as  now,  a  language  distinct 
from  speech — a  language  of  signs  and  motions,  inex- 
pressibly significant  and  vivacious:  their  descendants 
retain  it,  and  the  learned  Jorio  hath  written  a  most  en- 
tertaining work  upon  that  species  of  hieroglyphical 
gesticulation. 

Sauntering  through  the  crowd,  Glaucus  soon  found 
himself  amidst  a  group  of  his  merry  and  dissipated 
friends. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Sallust,  "  it  is  a  lustrum  since  I  sa  iv 
you." 

"  And  how  have  you  spent  the  lustrum  ?  What  new 
dishes  have  you  discovered  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  scientific,"  returned  Sallust,  "  and  have 
made  some  experiments  in  the  feeding  of  lampreys ;  I 
confess  I  despair  of  bringing  them  to  the  perfection 
which  our  Roman  ancestors  attained." 

"  Miserable  man !  and  why  ?  " 

"  Because,"  returned  Sallust,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  is  no 
longer  lawful  to  give  them  a  slave  to  eat.  I  am  very 
often  tempted  to  make  away  with  a  very  fat  carptor 
(butler)  whom  I  possess,  and  pop  him  slily  into  the 
reservoir.  He  would  give  the  fish  a  most  oleaginous 
flavour !  But  slaves  are  not  slaves  nowadays,  and  have 
no  sympathy  with  their  master's  interest — or  Davus 
would  destroy  himself  to  oblige  me !  " 

"  What  news  from  Rome  ? "  said  Lepidus  as  he 
languidly  joined  the  group. 

"  The  emperor  has  been  giving  a  splendid  supper  to 
the  senators,"  answered  Sallust. 

"  He  is  a  good  creature,"  quoth  Lepidus ;  "  they  say 
he  never  sends  a  man  away  without  granting  his  re- 
quest." 

"  Perhaps  he  would  let  me  kill  a  slave  for  my  reser- 
voir ?  "  returned  Sallust,  eagerly. 


8o          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Not  unlikely,"  said  Glaucus ;  "  for  he  who  grants  a 
favour  to  one  Roman,  must  always  do  it  at  the  expense 
of  another.  Be  sure,  that  for  every  smile  Titus  has 
caused,  a  hundred  eyes  have  wept." 

"  Long  live  TitusJ  "  cried  Pansa,  overhearing  the 
emperor's  name,  as  he  swept  patronisingly  through  the 
crowd ;  "  he  has  promised  my  brother  a  quaestorship,  be- 
cause he  had  run  through  his  fortune." 

"  And  wishes  now  to  enrich  himself  among  the  peo- 
ple, my  Pansa,"  said  Glaucus. 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  Pansa. 

"  That  is  putting  the  people  to  some  use,"  said 
Glaucus. 

"  To  be  sure,"  returned  Pansa.  "  Well,  I  must  go 
and  look  after  the  aerarium — it  is  a  little  out  of  repair ;  " 
and  followed  by  a  long  train  of  clients,  distinguished 
from  the  rest  of  the  throng  by  the  togas  they  wore  (for 
togas,  once  the  sign  of  freedom  in  a  citizen,  were  now 
the  badge  of  servility  to  a  patron),  the  aedile  fidgeted 
fussily  away. 

"  Poor  Pansa !  "  said  Lepidus ;  "  he  never  has  time 
for  pleasure.  Thank  Heaven,  I  am  not  an  aedile !  " 

"  Ah,  Glaucus ;  how  are  you  ?  gay  as  ever  ?  "  said 
Clodius,  joining  the  group. 

"  Are  you  come  to  sacrifice  to  fortune  ?  "  said  Sallust. 

"  I  sacrifice  to  her  every  night,"  returned  the 
gamester. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it.  No  man  has  made  more  vic- 
tims !  " 

"  By  Hercules,  a  biting  speech ! "  cried  Glaucus, 
laughing. 

"  The  dog's  letter  is  never  out  of  your  mouth, 
Sallust,"  said  Clodius  angrily :  "  you  are  always  snarl- 
ing." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          81 

"  I  may  well  have  the  dog's  letter  in  my  mouth,  since, 
whenever  I  play  with  you,  I  have  the  dog's  throw  in 
my  hand,"  returned  Sallust. 

"  Hist !  "  said  Glaucus,  taking  a  rose  from  a  flower- 
girl  who  stood  beside. 

"  The  rose  is  the  token  of  silence,"  replied  Sallust ; 
"  but  I  love  only  to  see  it  at  the  supper-table." 

"  Talking  of  that,  Diomed  gives  a  grand  feast  next 
week,"  said  Sallust :  "  are  you  invited,  Glaucus  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  received  an  invitation  this  morning." 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  Sallust,  drawing  a  square  piece  of 
papyrus  from  his  girdle :  "  I  see  that  he  asks  us  an  hour 
earlier  than  usual :  an  earnest  of  something  sumpt- 
uous." * 

"  Oh !  he  is  rich  as  Croesus,"  said  Clodius ;  "  and  his 
bill  of  fare  is  as  long  as  an  epic." 

"  Well,  let  us  to  the  baths,"  said  Glaucus,  "  this  is 
the  time  when  all  the  world  is  there ;  and  Fulvius,  whom 
you  admire  so  much,  is  going  to  read  us  his  last  ode." 

The  young  men  assented  readily  to  the  proposal,  and 
they  strolled  to  the  baths. 

Although  the  public  thermae,  or  baths,  were  insti- 
tuted rather  for  the  poorer  citizens  than  the  wealthy 
(for  the  last  had  baths  in  their  own  houses),  yet,  to 
the  crowds  of  all  ranks  who  resorted  to  them,  it  was  a 
favourite  place  for  conversation,  and  for  that  indolent 
lounging  so  dear  to  a  gay  and  thoughtless  people.  The 
baths  of  Pompeii  differed,  of  course,  in  plan  and  con- 
struction from  the  vast  and  complicated  thermae  of 
Rome;  and,  indeed,  it  seems  that  in  each  city  of  the 
empire  there  was  always  some  slight  modification  of 

1  The  Romans  sent  tickets  of  invitation,  like  the  modern, 
specifying  the  hour  of  the  repast ;  which,  if  the  intended  feast 
was  to  be  sumptuous,  was  earlier  than  usual. 


82          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

arrangement  in  the  general  architecture  of  the  public 
baths.  This  mightily  puzzles  the  learned — as  if  archi- 
tects and  fashion  were  not  capricious  before  the  nine- 
teenth century !  Our  party  entered  by  the  principal 
porch  in  the  Street  of  Fortune.  At  the  wing  of  the 
portico  sat  the  keeper  of  the  baths,  with  his  two  boxes 
before  him,  one  for  the  money  he  received,  one  for  the 
tickets  he  dispensed.  Round  the  walls  of  the  portico 
were  seats  crowded  with  persons  of  all  ranks ;  while 
others,  as  the  regimen  of  the  physicians  prescribed, 
were  walking  briskly  to  and  fro  in  the  portico,  stopping 
every  now  and  then  to  gaze  on  the  innumerable  notices 
of  shows,  games,  sales,  exhibitions,  which  were  painted 
or  inscribed  upon  the  walls.  The  general  subject  of 
conversation  was,  however,  the  spectacle  announced  in 
the  amphitheatre;  and  each  new-comer  was  fastened 
upon  by  a  group  eager  to  know  if  Pompeii  had  been 
so  fortunate  as  to  produce  some  monstrous  criminal, 
some  happy  case  of  sacrilege  or  of  murder,  which  would 
allow  the  aediles  to  provide  a  man  for  the  jaws  of  the 
lion ;  all  other  more  common  exhibitions  seemed  dull 
and  tame,  when  compared  with  the  possibility  of  this 
fortunate  occurrence. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  one  jolly-looking  man,  who  was 
a  goldsmith,  "  I  think  the  emperor,  if  he  is  as  good  as 
they  say,  might  have  sent  us  a  Jew." 

"  Why  not  take  one  of  the  new  sect  of  Nazarenes  ?  " 
said  a  philosopher.  "  I  am  not  cruel ;  but  an  atheist, 
one  who  denies  Jupiter  himself,  deserves  no  mercy." 

"  I  care  not  how  many  gods  a  man  likes  to  believe 
in,"  said  the  goldsmith :  "  but  to  deny  all  gods  is  some- 
thing monstrous." 

"  Yet  I  fancy,"  said  Glaucus,  "  that  these  people  are 
not  absolutely  atheists.  I  am  told  that  they  believe  in 
a  God — nay,  in  a  future  state." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          83 

"  Quite  a  mistake,  my  dear  Glaucus,"  said  the 
philosopher.  "  I  have  conferred  with  them — they 
laughed  in  my  face  when  I  talked  of  Pluto  and  Hades." 

"  O  ye  gods !  "  exclaimed  the  goldsmith  in  horror ; 
"  are  there  any  of  these  wretches  in  Pompeii  ?  " 

"  I  know  there  are  a  few :  but  they  meet  so  privately 
that  it  is  impossible  to  discover  who  they  are." 

As  Glaucus  turned  away,  a  sculptor,  who  was  a  great 
enthusiast  in  his  art,  looked  after  him  admiringly. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  "  if  we  could  get  him  on  the  arena — 
there  would  be  a  model  for  you  !  What  limbs !  what  a 
head !  he  ought  to  have  been  a  gladiator !  A  subject — 
a  subject — worthy  of  our  art!  Why  don't  they  give 
him  to  the  lion?  " 

Meanwhile  Fulvius,  the  Roman  poet,  whom  his  con- 
temporaries declared  immortal,  and  who,  but  for  this 
history,  would  never  have  been  heard  of  in  our  neg- 
lectful age,  came  eagerly  up  to  Glaucus.  "  Oh,  my 
Athenian,  my  Glaucus,  you  have  come  to  hear  my  ode ! 
That  is  indeed  an  honour ;  you,  a  Greek — to  whom  the 
very  language  of  common  life  is  poetry.  How  I  thank 
you.  It  is  but  a  trifle ;  but  if  I  secure  your  approbation, 
perhaps  I  may  get  an  introduction  to  Titus.  Oh,  Glau- 
cus! a  poet  without  a  patron  is  an  amphora  without  a 
label ;  the  wine  may  be  good,  but  nobody  will  laud  it ! 
And  what  says  Pythagoras  ? — '  Frankincense  to  the 
gods,  but  praise  to  man.'  A  patron,  then,  is  the  poet's 
priest:  he  procures  him  the  incense,  and  obtains  him 
his  believers." 

"  But  all  Pompeii  is  your  patron,  and  every  portico 
an  altar  in  your  praise." 

"  Ah !  the  poor  Pompeians  are  very  civil — they  love 
to  honour  merit.  But  they  are  only  the  inhabitants  of 
a  petty  town — spero  meliora !  Shall  we  within  ?  " 


84          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Certainly ;  we  lose  time  till  we  hear  your  poem." 

At  this  instant  there  was  a  rush  of  some  twenty  per- 
sons from  the  baths  into  the  portico ;  and  a  slave  sta- 
tioned at  the  door  of  a  small  corridor  now  admitted  the 
poet,  Glaucus,  Clodius,  and  a  troop  of  the  bard's  other 
friends,  into  the  passage. 

"  A  poor  place  this,  compared  with  the  Roman 
thermae !  "  said  Lepidus,  disdainfully. 

"  Yet  is  there  some  taste  in  the  ceiling,"  said  Glau- 
cus, who  was  in  a  mood  to  be  pleased  with  everything ; 
pointing  to  the  stars  which  studded  the  roof. 

Lepidus  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  was  too  languid 
to  reply.  They  now  entered  a  somewhat  spacious 
chamber,  which  served  for  the  purposes  of  the  apody- 
terium  (that  is,  a  place  where  the  bathers  prepared 
themselves  for  their  luxurious  ablutions).  The  vaulted 
ceiling  was  raised  from  a  cornice,  glowingly  coloured 
with  motley  and  grotesque  paintings ;  the  ceiling  itself 
was  panelled  in  white  compartments  bordered  with 
rich  crimson ;  the  unsullied  and  shining  floor  was  paved 
with  white  mosaics,  and  along  the  walls  were  ranged 
benches  for  the  accommodation  of  the  loiterers.  This 
chamber  did  not  possess  the  numerous  and  spacious 
windows  which  Vitruvius  attributes  to  his  more  mag- 
nificent frigidarium.  The  Pompeians,  as  all  the  south- 
ern Italians,  were  fond  of  banishing  the  light  of  their 
sultry  skies,  and  combined  in  their  voluptuous  associa- 
tions the  idea  of  luxury  with  darkness.  Two  windows 
of  glass  *  alone  admitted  the  soft  and  shaded  ray ;  and 
the  compartment  in  which  one  of  these  casements  was 

1  The  discoveries  at  Pompeii  have  controverted  the  long- 
established  error  of  the  antiquaries,  that  glass  windows  were 
unknown  to  the  Romans — the  use  of  them  was  not,  however, 
common  among  the  middle  and  inferior  classes  in  their  pri- 
vate dwellings. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          85 

placed  were  adorned  with  a  large  relief  of  the  de- 
struction of  the  Titans. 

In  this  apartment  Fulvius  seated  himself  with  a  mag- 
isterial air,  and  his  audience  gathering  round  him, 
encouraged  him  to  commence  his  recital. 

The  poet  did  not  require  much  pressing.  He  drew 
forth  from  his  vest  a  roll  of  papyrus,  and  after  hem- 
ming three  times,  as  much  to  command  silence  as  to 
clear  his  voice,  he  began  that  wonderful  ode,  of  which, 
to  the  great  mortification  of  the  author  of  this  history, 
no  single  verse  can  be  discovered. 

By  the  plaudits  he  received,  it  was  doubtless  worthy 
of  his  fame;  and  Glaucus  was  the  only  listener  who 
did  not  find  it  excel  the  best  odes  of  Horace. 

The  poem  concluded,  those  who  took  only  the  cold 
bath  began  to  undress ;  they  suspended  their  garments 
on  hooks  fastened  in  the  wall,  and  receiving,  accord- 
ing to  their  condition,  either  from  their  own  slaves  or 
those  of  the  thermae,  loose  robes  in  exchange,  withdrew 
into  that  graceful  and  circular  building  which  yet  ex- 
ists, to  shame  the  unlaving  posterity  of  the  south. 

The  more  luxurious  departed  by  another  door  to  the 
tepidarium,  a  place  which  was  heated  to  a  voluptuous 
warmth,  partly  by  a  movable  fireplace,  principally  by  a 
suspended  pavement,  beneath  which  was  conducted  the 
caloric  of  the  laconicum. 

Here  this  portion  of  the  intended  bathers,  after  un- 
robing themselves,  remained  for  some  time  enjoying  the 
artificial  warmth  of  the  luxurious  air.  And  this  room, 
as  befitted  its  important  rank  in  the  long  process  of 
ablution,  was  more  richly  and  elaborately  decorated 
than  the  rest.  The  arched  roof  was  beautifully  carved 
and  painted ;  the  windows  above,  of  ground  glass,  ad- 
mitted but  wandering  and  uncertain  rays;  below  the 


86          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

massive  cornices  were  rows  of  figures  in  massive  and 
bold  relief;  the  walls  glowed  with  crimson,  the  pave- 
ment was  skilfully  tesselated  in  white  mosaics.  Here 
the  habituated  bathers,  men  who  bathed  seven  times  a 
day,  would  remain  in  a  state  of  enervate  and  speech- 
less lassitude,  either  before  or  (mostly)  after  the  wa- 
ter-bath; and  many  of  these  victims  of  the  pursuit  of 
health  turned  their  listless  eyes  on  the  new-comers, 
recognising  their  friends  with  a  nod,  but  dreading  the 
fatigue  of  conversation. 

From  this  place  the  party  again  diverged,  according 
to  their  several  fancies,  some  to  the  sudatorium,  which 
answered  the  purpose  of  our  vapour-baths,  and  thence 
to  the  warm-bath  itself;  those  more  accustomed  to  ex- 
ercise, and  capable  of  dispensing  with  so  cheap  a  pur- 
chase of  fatigue,  resorted  at  once  to  the  calidarium,  or 
water-bath. 

In  order  to  complete  this  sketch,  and  give  to  the 
reader  an  adequate  notion  of  this,  the  main  luxury  of 
the  ancients,  we  will  accompany  Lepidus,  who  regu- 
larly underwent 'the  whole  process,  save  only  the  cold- 
bath,  which  had  gone  lately  out  of  fashion.  Being 
then  gradually  warmed  in  the  tepidarium,  which  has 
just  been  described,  the  delicate  steps  of  the  Pompeian 
elegant  were  conducted  to  the  sudatorium.  Here  let 
the  reader  depict  to  himself  the  gradual  process  of  the 
vapour-bath,  accompanied  by  an  exhalation  of  spicy 
perfumes.  After  our  bather  had  undergone  this  opera- 
tion, he  was  seized  by  his  slaves,  who  always  awaited 
him  at  the  baths,  and  the  dews  of  heat  were  removed 
by  a  kind  of  scraper,  which  (by  the  way)  a  modern 
traveller  has  gravely  declared  to  be  used  only  to  re- 
move the  dirt,  not  one  particle  of  which  could  ever 
settle  on  the  polished  skin  of  the  practised  bather. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          87 

Thence,  somewhat  cooled,  he  passed  into  the  water- 
bath,  over  which  fresh  perfumes  were  profusely  scat- 
tered, and  on  emerging  from  the  opposite  part  of  the 
room,  a  cooling  shower  played  over  his  head  and  form. 
Then  wrapping  himself  in  a  light  robe,  he  returned 
once  more  to  the  tepidarium,  where  he  found  Glaucus, 
who  had  not  encountered  the  sudatorium ;  and  now,  the 
main  delight  and  extravagance  of  the  bath  commenced. 
Their  slaves  anointed  the  bathers  from  vials  of  gold, 
of  alabaster,  or  of  crystal,  studded  with  profusest  gems, 
and  containing  the  rarest  unguents  gathered  from  all 
quarters  of  the  world.  The  number  of  these  smegmata 
used  by  the  wealthy  would  fill  a  modern  volume — es- 
pecially if  the  volume  were  printed  by  a  fashionable 
publisher:  Amoracinum,  Megalium,  Nardum — omne 
quod  exit  in  urn: — while  soft  music  played  in  an  ad- 
jacent chamber,  and  such  as  used  the  bath  in  modera- 
tion, refreshed  and  restored  by  the  grateful  ceremony, 
conversed  with  all  the  zest  and  freshness  of  rejuve- 
nated life. 

"  Blessed  be  be  who  invented  baths !  "  said  Glaucus, 
stretching  himself  along  one  of  those  bronze  seats  (then 
covered  with  soft  cushions)  which  the  visitor  to  Pom- 
peii sees  at  this  day  in  that  same  tepidarium.  "  Whether 
he  were  Hercules  or  Bacchus,  he  deserved  deification." 

"  But  tell  me,"  said  a  corpulent  citizen,  who  was 
groaning  and  wheezing  under  the  operation  of  being 
rubbed  down,  "  tell  me,  O  Glaucus ! — evil  chance  to 
thy  hands,  O  slave !  why  so  rough  ? — tell  me — ugh — 
ugh ! — are  the  baths  at  Rome  really  so  magnificent  ?  " 
Glaucus  turned,  and  recognised  Diomed,  though  not 
without  some  difficulty,  so  red  and  so  inflamed  were 
the  good  man's  cheeks  by  the  sudatory  and  the  scraping 
he  had  so  lately  undergone.  "  I  fancy  they  must  be  a 


88 

great  deal  finer  than  these.  Eh  ? "  Suppressing  a 
smile,  Glaucus  replied — 

"  Imagine  all  Pompeii  converted  into  baths,  and  you 
will  then  form  a  notion  of  the  size  of  the  imperial 
thermae  of  Rome.  But  a  notion  of  the  size  only.  Im- 
agine every  entertainment  for  mind  and  body — enumer- 
ate all  the  gymnastic  games  our  fathers  invented — 
repeat  all  the  books  Italy  and  Greece  have  produced — 
suppose  places  for  all  these  games,  admirers  for  all 
these  works — add  to  this,  baths  of  the  vastest  size,  the 
most  complicated  construction — intersperse  the  whole 
with  gardens,  with  theatres,  with  porticoes,  with 
schools — suppose,  in  one  word,  a  city  of  the  gods,  com- 
posed but  of  palaces  and  public  edifices,  and  you  may 
form  some  faint  idea  of  the  glories  of  the  great  baths 
of  Rome." 

"  By  Hercules !  "  said  Diomed,  opening  his  eyes, 
"  why,  it  would  take  a  man's  whole  life  to  bathe !  " 

"  At  Rome  it  often  does  so,"  replied  Glaucus, 
gravely.  "  There  are  many  who  live  only  at  the  baths. 
They  repair  there  the.  first  hour  in  which  the  doors  are 
opened,  and  remain  till  that  in  which  the  doors  are 
closed.  They  seem  as  if  they  knew  nothing  of  the  rest 
of  Rome,  as  if  they  despised  all  other  existence." 

"  By  Pollux !  you  amase  me." 

"  Even  those  who  bathe  only  thrice  a  day  contrive  to 
consume  their  lives  in  this  occupation.  They  take  their 
exercise  in  the  tennis-court  or  the  porticoes,  to  prepare 
them  for  the  first  bath ;  they  lounge  into  the  theatre,  to 
refresh  themselves  after  it.  They  take  their  prandium 
under  the  trees,  and  think  over  their  second  bath.  By 
the  time  it  is  prepared,  the  prandium  is  digested.  From 
the  second  bath  they  stroll  into  one  of  the  peristyles, 
to  hear  some  new  poet  recite;  or  into  the  library,  to 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          89 

sleep  over  an  old  one.  Then  comes  the  supper,  which 
they  still  consider  but  a  part  of  the  bath ;  and  then  a 
third  time  they  bathe  again,  as  the  best  place  to  con- 
verse with  their  friends." 

"  Per  Hercle !  but  we  have  their  imitators  at 
Pompeii." 

"  Yes,  and  without  their  excuse.  The  magnificent 
voluptuaries  of  the  Roman  baths  are  happy;  they  see 
nothing  but  gorgeousness  and  splendour ;  they  visit  not 
the  squalid  parts  of  the  city ;  they  know  not  that  there 
is  poverty  in  the  world.  All  Nature  smiles  for  them, 
and  her  only  frown  is  the  last  one  which  sends  them  to 
bathe  in  Cocytus.  Believe  me,  they  are  your  only  true 
philosophers." 

While  Glaucus  was  thus  conversing,  Lepidus,  with 
closed  eyes  and  scarce  perceptible  breath,  was  under- 
going all  the  mystic  operations,  not  one  of  which  he 
ever  suffered  his  attendants  to  omit.  After  the  per- 
fumes and  the  unguents,  they  scattered  over  him  the 
luxurious  powder  which  prevented  any  farther  acces- 
sion of  heat :  and  this  being  rubbed  away  by  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  pumice,  he  began  to  indue,  not  the  gar- 
ments he  had  put  off,  but  those  more  festive  ones  termed 
"  the  synthesis,"  with  which  the  Romans  marked  their 
respect  for  the  coming  ceremony  of  supper,  if  rather, 
from  its  hour  (three  o'clock  in  our  measurement  of 
time),  it  might  not  be  more  fitly  denominated  dinner. 
This  done,  he  at  length  opened  his  eyes  and  gave  signs 
of  returning  life. 

At  the  same  time,  too,  Sallust  betokened  by  a  long 
yawn  the  evidence  of  existence. 

"  It  is  supper  time,"  said  the  epicure ;  "  you,  Glaucus 
and  Lepidus,  come  and  sup  with  me." 

"  Recollect  you  are  all  three  engaged  to  my  house 


90          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

next  week,"  cried  Diomed,  who  was  mightily  proud  of 
the  acquaintance  of  men  of  fashion. 

"  Ah,  ah !  we  recollect,"  said  Sallust :  "  the  seat  of 
memory,  my  Diomed,  is  certainly  in  the  stomach." 

Passing  now  once  again  into  the  cooler  air,  and  so 
into  the  street,  our  gallants  of  that  day  concluded  the 
ceremony  of  a  Pompeian  bath. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ARBACES    COGS    HIS    DICE    WITH    PLEASURE,    AND    WINS 
THE  GAME. 

The  evening  darkened  over  the  restless  city  as 
Apsecides  took  his  way  to  the  house  of  the  Egyptian. 
He  avoided  the  more  lighted  and  populous  streets ;  and 
as  he  strode  onward  with  his  head  buried  in  his  bosom, 
and  his  arms  folded  within  his  robe,  there  was  some- 
thing startling  in  the  contrast,  which  his  solemn  mien 
and  wasted  form  presented  to  the  thoughtless  brows 
and  animated  air  of  those  who  occasionally  crossed  his 
path. 

At  length,  however,  a  man  of  a  more  sober  and  staid 
demeanour,  and  who  had  twice  passed  him  with  a 
curious  but  doubting  look,  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  Apsecides !  "  said  he,  and  he  made  a  rapid  sign  with 
his  hands :  it  was  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  Well,  Nazarene,"  replied  the  priest,  and  his  pale 
face  grew  paler ;  "  what  wouldst  thou  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  returned  the  stranger,  "  I  would  not  inter- 
rupt thy  meditations  ;  but  the  last  time  we  met  I  seemed 
not  to  be  so  unwelcome." 

"  You  are  not  unwelcome,  Olinthus ;  but  I  am  sad  and 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          91 

weary :  nor  am  I  able  this  evening  to  discuss  with  you 
those  themes  which  are  most  acceptable  to  you." 

"  O  backward  of  heart !  "  said  Olinthus,  with  bitter 
fervour ;  "  and  art  thou  sad  and  weary,  and  wilt  thou 
turn  from  the  very  springs  that  refresh  and  heal  ?  " 

"  O  earth !  "  cried  the  young  priest,  striking  his 
breast  passionately,  "  for  what  regions  shall  my  eyes 
open  to  the  true  Olympus,  where  thy  gods  really  dwell  ? 
Am  I  to  believe  with  this  man,  that  none  whom  for  so 
many  centuries  my  fathers  worshipped  have  a  being 
or  a  name?  Am  I  to  break  down,  as  something 
blasphemous  and  profane,  the  very  altars  which  I  have 
deemed  most  sacred  ?  or  am  I  to  think  with  Arbaces — 
what?" 

He  paused  and  strode  rapidly  away  in  the  impatience 
of  a  man  who  strives  to  get  rid  of  himself.  But  the 
Nazarene  was  one  of  those  hardy,  vigorous,  and  en- 
thusiastic men,  by  whom  God  in  all  times  has  worked 
the  revolutions  of  earth,  and  those,  above  all,  in  the 
establishment  and  in  the  reformation  of  His  own  re- 
ligion ; — men  who  were  formed  to  convert,  because 
formed  to  endure.  It  is  men  of  this  mould  whom  noth- 
ing discourages,  nothing  dismays ;  in  the  fervour  of 
belief  they  are  inspired  and  they  inspire.  Their 'rea- 
son first  kindles  their  passion,  but  the  passion  is  the 
instrument  they  use ;  they  force  themselves  into  men's 
hearts,  while  they  appear  only  to  appeal  to  their  judg- 
ment. Nothing  is  so  contagious  as  enthusiasm;  it  is 
the  real  allegory  of  the  tale  of  Orpheus — it  moves 
stones,  it  charms  brutes.  Enthusiasm  is  the  genius 
of  sincerity,  and  truth  accomplishes  no  victories  with- 
out it. 

Olinthus  did  not  then  suffer  Apaecides  thus  easily 
to  escape  him.  He  overtook  and  addressed  him 
thus : — 


92          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  I  do  not  wonder,  Apaecides,  that  I  distress  you ; 
that  I  shake  all  the  elements  of  your  mind;  that  you 
are  lost  in  doubt ;  that  you  drift  here  and  there  in  the 
vast  ocean  of  uncertain  and  benighted  thought.  I  won- 
der not  at  this,  but  bear  with  me  a  little ;  watch  and 
pray, — the  darkness  shall  vanish,  the  storm  sleep,  and 
God  Himself,  as  He  came  of  yore  on  the  sea  of  Gali- 
lee, shall  walk  over  the  lulled  billows,  to  the  delivery 
of  your  soul.  Ours  is  a  religion  jealous  in  its  de- 
mands, but  how  infinitely  prodigal  in  its  gifts !  It 
troubles  you  for  an  hour,  it  repays  you  by  immor- 
tality." 

"  Such  promises,"  said  Apsecides,  sullenly,  "  are  the 
tricks  by  which  man  is  ever  gulled.  Oh,  glorious  were 
the  promises  which  led  me  to  the  shrine  of  Isis !  " 

"  But,"  answered  the  Nazarene,  "  ask  thy  reason, 
can  that  religion  be  sound  which  outrages  all  mo- 
rality? You  are  told  to  worship  your  gods.  What 
are  those  gods,  even  according  to  yourselves?  What 
their  actions,  what  their  attributes?  Are  they  not  all 
represented  to  you  as  the  blackest  of  criminals?  yet 
you  are  asked  to  serve  them  as  the  holiest  of  divinities. 
Jupiter  himself  is  a  parricide  and  an  adulterer.  What 
are  the  meaner  deities  but  imitators  of  his  vices  ?  You 
are  told  not  to  murder,  but  you  worship  murderers ; 
you  are  told  not  to  commit  adultery,  and  you  make 
your  prayers  to  an  adulterer.  Oh !  what  is  this  but  a 
mockery  of  the  holiest  part  of  man's  nature,  which  is 
faith?  Turn  now  to  the  God,  the  one,  the  true  God, 
to  whose  shrine  I  would  lead  you.  If  He  seem  to  you 
too  sublime,  too  shadowy,  for  those  human  associa- 
tions, those  touching  connections  between  Creator  and 
creature,  to  which  the  weak  heart  clings — contemplate 
Him  in  his  Son,  who  put  on  mortality  like  ourselves. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          93 

His  mortality  is  not  indeed  declared,  like  that  of  your 
fabled  gods,  by  the  vices  of  our  nature,  but  by  the  prac- 
tice of  all  its  virtues.  In  Him  are  united  the  austerest 
morals  with  the  tenderest  affections.  If  He  were  but 
a  mere  man,  He  had  been  worthy  to  become  a  god. 
You  honour  Socrates — he  has  his  sect,  his  disciples,  his 
schools.  But  what  are  the  doubtful  virtues  of  the 
Athenian,  to  the  bright,  the  undisputed,  the  active,  the 
unceasing,  the  devoted  holiness  of  Christ?  I  speak 
to  you  now  only  of  His  human  character.  He  came 
in  that  as  the  pattern  of  future  ages,  to  show  us  the 
form  of  virtue  which  Plato  thirsted  to  see  embodied. 
This  was  the  true  sacrifice  that  He  made  for  man ;  but 
the  halo  that  encircled  His  dying  hour  not  only  bright- 
ened earth,  but  opened  to  us  the  sight  of  heaven  !  You 
are  touched — you  are  moved.  God  works  in  your 
heart.  His  Spirit  is  with  you.  Come,  resist  not  the 
holy  impulse ;  come  at  once — unhesitatingly.  A  few 
of  us  are  now  assembled  to  expound  the  word  of  God. 
Come,  let  me  guide  you  to  them.  You  are  sad,  you 
are  weary.  Listen,  then,  to  the  words  of  God — '  Come 
to  me,'  saith  He,  '  all  ye  that  are  heavy  laden,  and  I 
will,  give  you  rest ! ' : 

"  I  cannot  now,"  said  Apaecides ;  "  another  time." 
"  Now — now  !  "  exclaimed  Olinthus,  earnestly,  and 
clasping  him  by  the  arm. 

But  Apaecides,  yet  unprepared  for  the  renunciation 
of  that  faith — that  life,  for  which  he  had  sacrificed  so 
much,  and  still  haunted  by  the  promises  of  the  Egyp- 
tian, extricated  himself  forcibly  from  the  grasp;  and 
feeling  an  effort  necessary  to  conquer  the  irresolution 
which  the  eloquence  of  the  Christian  had  begun  to  ef- 
fect in  his  heated  and  feverish  mind,  he  gathered  up 
his  robes  and  fled  away  with  a  speed  that  defied  pur- 
suit. 


94          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Breathless  and  exhausted,  he  arrived  at  last  in  a  re- 
mote and  sequestered  part  of  the  city,  and  the  lone 
house  of  the  Egyptian  stood  before  him.  As  he 
paused  to  recover  himself,  the  moon  emerged  from  a 
silver  cloud,  and  shone  full  upon  the  walls  of  that  mys- 
terious habitation. 

No  other  Louse  was  near — the  darksome  vines  clus- 
tered far  and  wide  in  front  of  the  building,  and  behind 
it  rose  a  copse  of  lofty  forest  trees,  sleeping  in  the 
melancholy  moonlight ;  beyond  stretched  the  dim  out- 
line of  the  distant  hills,  and  amongst  them  the  quiet 
crest  of  Vesuvius,  not  then  so  lofty  as  the  traveller 
beholds  it  now. 

Apaecides  passed  through  the  arching  vines,  and  ar- 
rived at  the  broad  and  spacious  portico.  Before  it,  on 
either  side  of  the  steps,  reposed  the  image  of  the  Egyp- 
tian sphinx,  and  the  moonlight  gave  an  additional  and 
yet  more  solemn  calm  to  those  large,  and  harmonious, 
and  passionless  features,  in  which  the  sculptors  of  that 
type  of  wisdom  united  so  much  of  loveliness  with  awe ; 
half-way  up  the  extremities  of  the  steps  darkened  the 
green  and  massive  foliage  of  the  aloe,  and  the  shadow 
of  the  eastern  palm  cast  its  long  and  unwaving  boughs 
partially  over  the  marble  surface  of  the  stairs. 

Something  there  was  in  the  stillness  of  the  place, 
and  the  strange  aspect  of  the  sculptured  sphinxes, 
which  thrilled  the  blood  of  the  priest  with  a  nameless 
and  ghostly  fear,  and  he  longed  even  for  an  echo  to 
his  noiseless  steps  as  he  ascended  to  the  threshold. 

He  knocked  at  the  door,  over  which  was  wrought 
an  inscription  in  characters  unfamiliar  to  his  eyes ;  it 
opened  without  a  sound,  and  a  tall  Ethiopian  slave, 
without  question  or  salutation,  motioned  to  him  to  pro- 
ceed. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          95 

The  wide  hall  was  lighted  by  lofty  candelabra  of 
elaborate  bronze,  and  round  the  walls  were  wrought 
vast  hieroglyphics,  in  dark  and  solemn  colours,  which 
contrasted  strangely  with  the  bright  hues  and  grace- 
ful shapes  with  which  the  inhabitants  of  Italy  decorat- 
ed their  abodes.  At  the  extremity  of  the  hall,  a  slave, 
whose  countenance,  though  not  African,  was  darker 
by  many  shades  than  the  usual  colour  of  the  south, 
advanced  to  meet  him. 

"  I  seek  Arbaces,"  said  the  priest ;  but  his  voice  trem- 
bled even  in  his  own  ear.  The  slave  bowed  his  head 
in  silence,  and  leading  Apaecides  to  a  wing  without  the 
hall,  conducted  him  up  a  narrow  staircase,  and  then 
traversing  several  rooms,  in  which  the  stern  and 
thoughtful  beauty  of  the  sphinx  still  made  the  chief 
and  most  impressive  object  of  the  priest's  notice,  Apae- 
cides found  himself  in  a  dim  and  half-lighted  cham- 
ber, in  the  presence  of  the  Egyptian. 

Arbaces  was  seated  before  a  small  table,  on  which  lay 
unfolded  several  scrolls  of  papyrus,  impressed  with  the 
same  character  as  that  on  the  threshold  of  the  man- 
sion. A  small  tripod  stood  at  a  little  distance,  from 
the  incense  in  which  the  smoke  slowly  rose.  Near  this 
was  a  vast  globe,  depicting  the  signs  of  heaven;  and 
upon  another  table  lay  several  instruments,  of  curious 
and  quaint  shape,  whose  uses  were  unknown  to  Apae- 
cides. The  farther  extremity  of  the  room  was  con- 
cealed by  a  curtain,  and  the  oblong  window  in  the  roof 
admitted  the  rays  of  the  moon,  mingling  sadly  with 
the  single  lamp  which  burned  in  the  apartment. 

"  Seat  yourself,  Apaecides,"  said  the  Egyptian,  with- 
out rising. 

The  young  man  obeyed. 

"  You  ask  me/'   resumed   Arbaces,   after  a   short 


96          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

pause,  in  which  he  seemed  absorbed  in  thought, — 
"  You  ask  me,  or  would  do  so,  the  mightiest  secrets 
which  the  soul  of  man  is  fitted  to  receive:  it  is  the 
enigma  of  life  itself  that  you  desire  me  to  solve.  Placed 
like  children  in  the  dark,  and  but  for  a  little  while, 
in  this  dim  and  confined  existence,  we  shape  out  spec- 
tres in  the  obscurity ;  our  thoughts  now  sink  back  into 
ourselves  in  terror,  now  wildly  plunge  themselves  into 
the  guileless  gloom,  guessing  what  it  may  contain ; — 
stretching  our  helpless  hands  here  and  there,  lest, 
blindly,  we  stumble  upon  some  hidden  danger;  not 
knowing  the  limits  of  our  boundary,  now  feeling  them 
suffocate  us  with  compression,  now  seeing  them  ex- 
tend far  away  till  they  vanish  into  eternity.  In  this 
state  all  wisdom  consists  necessarily  in  the  solution  of 
two  questions — '  What  are  we  to  believe  ?  and  what 
are  we  to  reject? '  These  questions  you  desire  to  de- 
cide?" 

Apaecides  bowed  his  head  in  assent. 

"  Man  must  have  some  belief,"  continued  the  Egyp- 
tian, in  a  tone  of  sadness.  "  He  must  fasten  his  hope 
to  something:  it  is  our  common  nature  that  you  in- 
herit when,  aghast  and  terrified  to  see  that  in  which 
you  have  been  taught  to  place  your  faith  swept  away, 
you  float  over  a  dreary  and  shoreless  sea  of  incertitude, 
you  cry  for  help,  you  ask  for  some  plank  to  cling  to, 
some  land,  however  dim  and  distant,  to  attain.  Well, 
then,  listen.  You  have  not  forgotten  our  conversation 
of  to-day?" 

"  Forgotten !  " 

"  I  confessed  to  you  that  those  deities  for  whom 
smoke  so  many  altars  were  but  inventions.  I  con- 
fessed to  you  that  our  rites  and  ceremonies  were  but 
mummeries,  to  delude  and  lure  the  herd  to  their  proper 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          97 

good.  I  explained  to  you  that  from  those  delusions 
came  the  bonds  of  society,  the  harmony  of  the  world, 
the  power  of  the  wise ;  that  power  is  in  the  obedience 
of  the  vulgar.  Continue  we  then  these  salutary  de- 
lusions— if  man  must  have  some  belief,  continue  to 
him  that  which  his  fathers  have  made  dear  to  him,  and 
which  custom  sanctifies  and  strengthens.  In  seeking 
a  subtler  faith  for  us,  whose  senses  are  too  spiritual 
for  the  gross  one,  let  us  leave  others  that  support 
which  crumbles  from  ourselves.  This  is  wise — it  is 
benevolent." 

"  Proceed." 

"  This  being  settled,"  resumed  the  Egyptian,  "  the 
old  landmarks  being  left  uninjured  for  those  whom 
we  are  about  to  desert,  we  gird  up  our  loins  and  depart 
to  new  climes  of  faith.  Dismiss  at  once  from  your 
recollection,  from  your  thought,  all  that  you  have  be- 
lieved before.  Suppose  the  mind  a  blank,  an  unwritten 
scroll,  fit  to  receive  impressions  for  the  first  time. 
Look  round  the  world — observe  its  order — its  regu- 
larity— its  design.  Something  must  have  created  it — 
the  design  speaks  a  designer :  in  that  certainty  we  first 
touch  land.  But  what  is  that  something? — A  god,  you 
cry.  Stay — no  confused  and  confusing  names.  Of 
that  which  created  the  world,  you  know,  we  can  know, 
nothing,  save  these  attributes — power  and  unvarying 
regularity; — stern,  crushing,  relentless  regularity — 
heeding  no  individual  cases — rolling — sweeping — 
burning  on ; — no  matter  what  scattered  hearts,  severed 
from  the  general  mass,  fall  ground  and  scorched  be- 
neath its  wheels.  The  mixture  of  evil  with  good — the 
existence  of  suffering  and  of  crime — in  all  times  have 
perplexed  the  wise.  They  created  a  god — they  sup- 
posed him  benevolent.  How  then  came  this  evil? — 
7 


98          THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

why  did  he  permit — nay,  why  invent,  why  perpetuate 
it?  To  account  for  this,  the  Persian  creates  a  second 
spirit,  whose  nature  is  evil,  and  supposes  a  continual 
war  between  that  and  the  god  of  good.  In  our  own 
shadowy  and  tremendous  Typhon,  the  Egyptians  im- 
age a  similar  demon.  Perplexing  blunder  that  yet 
more  bewilders  us — folly  that  arose  from  the  vain  de- 
lusion that  makes  a  palpable,  a  corporeal,  a  human 
being,  of  this  unknown  power — that  clothes  the  In- 
visible with  attributes  and  a  nature  similar  to  the  Seen. 
No :  to  this  designer  let  us  give  a  name  that  does  not 
command  our  bewildering  associations,  and  the  mys- 
tery becomes  more  clear — that  name  is  NECESSITY. 
Necessity,  say  the  Greeks,  compels  the  gods.  Then 
why  the  gods? — their  agency  becomes  unnecessary — 
dismiss  them  at  once.  Necessity  is  the  ruler  of  all  we 
see; — power,  regularity — these  two  qualities  make  its 
nature.  Would  you  ask  more? — you  can  learn  noth- 
ing: whether  it  be  eternal — whether  it  compel  us,  its 
creatures,  to  new  careers  after  that  darkness  which  we 
call  death — we  cannot  tell.  There  leave  we  this  an- 
cient, unseen,  unfathomable  power,  and  come  to  that 
which,  to  our  eyes,  is  the  great  minister  of  its  func- 
tions. This  we  can  task  more,  from  this  we  can  learn 
more :  its  evidence  is  around  us — its  name  is  NATURE. 
The  error  of  the  sages  has  been  to  direct  their  re- 
searches to  the  attributes  of  necessity,  where  all  is 
gloom  and  blindness.  Had  they  confined  their  re- 
searches to  Nature — what  of  knowledge  might  we  not 
already  have  achieved?  Here  patience,  examination, 
are  never  directed  in  vain.  We  see  what  we  explore; 
our  minds  ascend  a  palpable  ladder  of  causes  and  ef- 
fects. Nature  is  the  great  agent  of  the  external  uni- 
verse, and  Necessity  imposes  upon  it  the  laws  by  which 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII          99 

it  acts,  and  imparts  to  us  the  powers  by  which  we 
examine;  those  powers  are  curiosity  and  memory — 
their  union  is  reason,  their  perfection  is  wisdom.  Well, 
then,  I  examine  by  the  help  of  these  powers  this  in- 
exhaustible Nature.  I  examine  the  earth,  the  air,  the 
ocean,  the  heaven :  I  find  that  all  have  a  mystic  sympa- 
thy with  each  other — that  the  moon  sways  the  tides — 
that  the  air  maintains  the  earth,  and  is  the  medium 
of  the  life  and  sense  of  things — that  by  the  knowledge 
of  the  stars  we  measure  the  limits  of  the  earth — that 
we  portion  out  the  epochs  of  time — that  by  their  pale 
light  we  are  guided  into  the  abyss  of  the  past — that 
in  their  solemn  lore  we  discern  the  destinies  of  the 
future.  And  thus,  while '  we  know  not  that  which 
Necessity  is,  we  learn,  at  least,  her  decrees.  And  now, 
what  morality  do  we  glean  from  this  religion? — for 
religion  it  is.  I  believe  in  two  deities,  Nature  and 
Necessity ;  I  worship  the  last  by  reverence,  the  first  by 
investigation.  What  is  the  morality  my  religion 
teaches?  This — all  things  are  subject  but  to  general 
rules ;  the  sun  shines  for  the  joy  of  the  many — it  may 
bring  sorrow  to  the  few ;  the  night  sheds  sleep  on  the 
multitude — but  it  harbours  murder  as  well  as  rest ;  the 
forests  adorn  the  earth — but  shelter  the  serpent  and 
the  lion ;  the  ocean  supports  a  thousand  barks — but  it 
engulfs  the  one.  It  is  only  thus  for  the  general,  and 
not  for  the  universal  benefit  that  Nature  acts,  and  Ne- 
cessity speeds  on  her  awful  course.  This  is  the  moral- 
ity of  the  dread  agents  of  the  world — it  is  mine,  who 
am  their  creature.  I  would  preserve  the  delusions  of 
priestcraft,  for  they  are  serviceable  to  the  multitude; 
I  would  impart  to  man  the  arts  I  discover,  the  sciences 
I  perfect;  I  would  speed  the  vast  career  of  civilising 
lore : — in  this  I  serve  the  mass,  I  fulfil  the  general  law, 


ioo        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

I  execute  the  great  moral  that  Nature  preaches.  For 
myself  I  claim  the  individual  exception ;  I  claim  it  for 
the  wise — satisfied  that  my  individual  actions  are  noth- 
ing in  the  great  balance  of  good  and  evil ;  satisfied  that 
the  product  of  my  knowledge  can  give  greater  bless- 
ings to  the  mass  than  my  desires  can  operate  evil  on 
the  few  (for  the  first  can  extend  to  remotest  regions 
and  humanise  nations  yet  unborn),  I  give  to  the  world 
wisdom,  to  myself  freedom.  I  enlighten  the  lives  of 
others,  and  I  enjoy  my  own.  Yes ;  our  wisdom  is  eter- 
nal, but  our  life  is  short ;  make  the  most  of  it  while  it 
lasts.  Surrender  thy  youth  to  pleasure,  and  thy  senses 
to  delight.  Soon  comes  the  hour  when  the  wine-cup 
is  shattered,  and  the  garlands  shall  cease  to  bloom. 
Enjoy  while  you  may.  Be  still,  O  Apaecides,  my  pupil 
and  my  follower !  I  will  teach  thee  the  mechanism  of 
Nature,  her  darkest  and  her  wildest  secrets — the  lore 
which  fools  call  magic — and  the  mighty  mysteries  of 
the  stars.  By  this  shalt  thou  discharge  thy  duty  to  the 
mass ;  by  this  shalt  thou  enlighten  thy  race.  But  I  will 
lead  thee  also  to  pleasures  of  which  the  vulgar  do  not 
dream ;  and  the  day  which  thou  givest  to  men  shall  be 
followed  by  the  sweet  night  which  thou  surrenderest 
to  thyself." 

As  the  Egyptian  ceased  there  rose  about,  around,  be- 
neath, the  softest  music  that  Lydia  ever  taught,  or 
Ionia  ever  perfected.  It  came  like  a  stream  of  sound, 
bathing  the  senses  unawares;  enervating,  subduing 
with  delight.  It  seemed  the  melodies  of  invisible  spir- 
its, such  as  the  shepherd  might  have  heard  in  the  golden 
age,  floating  through  the  vales  of  Thessaly,  or  in  the 
noontide  glades  of  Paphos.  The  words  which  had 
rushed  to  the  lips  of  Apaecides,  in  answer  to  the  sophis- 
tries of  the  Egyptian,  died  tremblingly  away.  He  felt 


IOI 

it  as  a  profanation  to  break  upon  that  enchanted  strain 
— the  susceptibility  of  his  excited  nature,  the  Greek 
softness  and  ardour  of  his  secret  soul  were  swayed  and 
captured  by  surprise.  He  sank  on  the  seat  with  parted 
lips  and  thirsting  ear;  while  in  a  chorus  of  voices, 
bland  and  melting  as  those  which  waked  Psyche  in  the 
halls  of  love,  rose  the  following  song: — 

THE  HYMN   OF  EROS 

"  By  the  cool  banks  where  soft  Cephisus  flows, 

A  voice  sail'd  trembling  down  the  waves  of  air; 
The  leaves  blushed  brighter  in  the  Teian's  rose, 
The  doves  couch'd  breathless  in  their  summer  lair; 

While  from  their  hands  the  purple  flowerets  fell, 
The  laughing  hours  stood  listening  in  the  sky; 

From  Pan's  green  cave  to  yEgle's1  haunted  cell, 
Heaved  the  charm'd  earth  in  one  delicious  sigh. 

'  Love,  sons  of  earth !    I  am  the  power  of  love ! 

Eldest  of  all  the  gods,  with  Chaos2  born; 
My  smile  sheds  light  along  the  courts  above, 

My  kisses  wake  the  eyelids  of  the  Morn. 

'  Mine  are  the  stars — there,  ever  as  ye  gaze, 
Ye  meet  the  deep  spell  of  my  haunting  eyes ; 

Mine  is  the  moon — and,  mournful  if  her  rays, 
'Tis  that  she  lingers  where  her  Carian  lies. 

'  The  flowers  are  mine — the  blushes  of  the  rose, 
The  violet-charming  Zephyr  to  the  shade; 

Mine  the  quick  light  that  in  the  Maybeam  glows, 
And  mine  the  day-dream  in  the  lonely  glade. 

'  Love,  sons  of  earth — for  love  is  earth's  soft  lore, 
Look  where  ye  will — earth  overflows  with  ME; 

Learn  from  the  waves  that  ever  kiss  the  shore, 
And  the  winds  nestling  on  the  heaving  sea. 

1  The  fairest  of  the  Naiads.  2  Hesiod. 


102        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

'  All  teaches  love ! ' — The  sweet  voice,  like  a  dream, 
Melted  in  light ;  yet  still  the  airs  above, 

The  waving  sedges,  and  the  whispering  stream, 
And  the  green  forest  rustling,  murmur'd  '  LOVE  !  '  ' 

As  the  voices  died  away,  the  Egyptian  seized  the 
hand  of  Apaecides,  and  led  him,  wondering,  intoxicat- 
ed, yet  half-reluctant,  across  the  chamber  towards  the 
curtain  at  the  far  end ;  and  now,  from  behind  that  cur- 
tain, there  seemed  to  burst  a  thousand  sparkling  stars ; 
the  veil  itself,  hitherto  dark,  was  now  lighted  by  these 
fires  behind  into  the  tenderest  blue  of  heaven.  It  rep- 
resented heaven  itself — such  a  heaven,  as  in  the  nights 
of  June  might  have  shone  down  over  the  streams  of 
Castaly.  Here  and  there  were  painted  rosy  and  aerial 
clouds,  from  which  smiled,  by  the  limner's  art,  faces 
of  divinest  beauty,  and  on  which  reposed  the  shapes 
of  which  Phidias  and  Apelles  dreamed.  And  the  stars 
which  studded  the  transparent  azure  rolled  rapidly  as 
they  shone,  while  the  music,  that  again  woke  with  a 
livelier  and  lighter  sound,  seemed  to  imitate  the  melody 
of  the  joyous  spheres. 

"  Oh !  what  miracle  is  this,  Arbaces  ?  "  said  Apaecides 
in  faltering  accents.  "  After  having  denied  the  gods, 
art  thou  about  to  reveal  to  me " 

"  Their  pleasures !  "  interrupted  Arbaces,  in  a  tone 
so  different  from  its  usual  cold  and  tranquil  harmony 
that  Apaecides  started,  and  thought  the  Egyptian  him- 
self transformed ;  and  now,  as  they  neared  the  cur- 
tain, a  wild — a  loud — an  exulting  melody  burst  from 
behind  its  concealment.  With  that  sound  the  veil  was 
rent  in  twain — it  parted — it  seemed  to  vanish  into  air : 
and  a  scene,  which  no  Sybarite  ever  more  than  rivalled, 
broke  upon  the  dazzled  gaze  of  the  youthful  priest.  A 
vast  banquet-room  stretched  beyond,  blazing  with 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         103 

countless  lights,  which  filled  the  warm  air  with  the 
scents  of  frankincense,  of  jasmine,  of  violets,  of  myrrh  ; 
all  that  the  most  odorous  flowers,  all  that  the  most 
costly  spices  could  distil,  seemed  gathered  into  one 
ineffable  and  ambrosial  essence:  from  the  light  col- 
umns that  sprang  upwards  to  the  airy  roof,  hung 
draperies  of  white,  studded  with  golden  stars.  At  the 
extremities  of  the  room  two  fountains  cast  up  a  spray, 
which,  catching  the  rays  of  the  roseate  light,  glittered 
like  countless  diamonds.  In  the  centre  of  the  room 
as  they  entered  there  rose  slowly  from  the  floor,  to  the 
sound  of  unseen  minstrelsy,  a  table  spread  with  all  the 
viands  which  sense  ever  devoted  to  fancy,  and  vases 
of  that  lost  Myrrhine  fabric,1  so  glowing  in  its  colours, 
so  transparent  in  its  material,  were  crowned  with  the 
exotics  of  the  East.  The  couches,  to  which  this  table 
was  the  centre,  were  covered  with  tapestries  of  azure 
and  gold ;  and  from  invisible  tubes  in  the  vaulted  roof 
descended  showers  of  fragrant  waters,  that  cooled  the 
delicious  air,  and  contended  with  the  lamps,  as  if  the 
spirits  of  wave  and  fire  disputed  which  element  could 
furnish  forth  the  most  delicious  odours.  And  now, 
from  behind  the  snowy  draperies,  trooped  such  forms 
as  Adonis  beheld  when  he  lay  on  the  lap  of  Venus. 
They  came,  some  with  garlands,  others  with  lyres; 
they  surrounded  the  youth,  they  led  his  steps  to  the 
banquet.  They  flung  the  chaplets  round  him  in  rosy 
chains.  The  earth — the  thought  of  earth,  vanished 
from  his  soul.  He  imagined  himself  in  a  dream,  and 
suppressed  his  breath  lest  he  should  wake  too  soon ;  the 
senses,  to  which  he  had  never  yielded  as  yet,  beat  in  his 
burning  pulse,  and  confused  his  dizzy  and  reeling 

1  Which,  however,   was  possibly  the  porcelain  of   China, — 
though  this  is  a  matter  which  admits  of  considerable  dispute. 


104        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

sight.  And  while  thus  amazed  and  lost,  once  again, 
but  in  brisk  and  Bacchic  measures,  rose  the  magic 
strain : — 

ANACREONTIC 

"  In  the  veins  of  the  calix  foams  and  glows 

The  blood  of  the  mantling  vine, 
But  oh !  in  the  bowl  of  Youth  there  glows 
A  Lesbian,  more  divine ! 

Bright,  bright, 
As  the  liquid  light, 
Its  waves  through  thine  eyelids  shine ! 

Fill  up,  fill  up,  to  the  sparkling  brim, 

The  juice  of  the  young  Lyaeus;1 
The  grape  is  the  key  that  we  owe  to  him 
From  the  gaol  of  the  world  to  free  us. 

Drink,  drink ! 
What  need  to  shrink, 
When  the  lamps  alone  can  see  us? 

Drink,  drink,  as  I  quaff  from  thine  eyes 

The  wine  of  a  softer  tree; 

Give  the  smiles  to  the  god  of  the  grape — thy  sighs, 
Beloved  one,  give  to  me, 

Turn,  turn, 
My  glances  burn, 
And  thirst  for  a  look  from  thee !  " 

As  the  song  ended,  a  group  of  three  maidens,  en- 
twined with  a  chain  of  starred  flowers,  and  who,  while 
they  imitated,  might  have  shamed  the  Graces,  advanced 
towards  him  in  the  gliding  measures  of  the  Ionian 
dance:  such  as  the  Nereids  wreathed  in  moonlight  on 
the  yellow  sands  of  the  ^gean  wave,  such  as  Cytherea 
taught  her  handmaids  in  the  marriage-feast  of  Psyche 
and  her  son. 

1  Name  of  Bacchus,  from  Xtf»,  to  unbind,  to  release. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         105 

Now  approaching,  they  wreathed  their  chaplet  round 
his  head ;  now  kneeling,  the  youngest  of  the  three  prof- 
fered him  the  bowl,  from  which  the  wine  of  Lesbos 
foamed  and  sparkled.  The  youth  resisted  no  more,  he 
grasped  the  intoxicating  cup,  the  blood  mantled  fiercely 
through  his  veins.  He  sank  upon  the  breast  of  the 
nymph  who  sat  beside  him,  and  turning  with  swim- 
ming eyes  to  seek  for  Arbaces,  whom  he  had  lost  in 
the  whirl  of  his  emotions,  he  beheld  him  seated  beneath 
a  canopy  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  and  gazing  upon 
him  with  a  smile  that  encouraged  him  to  pleasure.  He 
beheld  him,  but  not  as  he  had  hitherto  seen,  with  dark 
and  sable  garments,  with  a  brooding  and  solemn  brow ; 
a  robe  that  dazzled  the  sight,  so  studded  was  its  whitest 
surface  with  gold  and  gems,  blazed  upon  his  majestic 
form ;  white  roses,  alternated  with  the  emerald  and  the 
ruby,  and  shaped  tiara-like,  crowned  his  raven  locks. 
He  appeared,  like  Ulysses,  to  have  gained  the  glory  of 
a  second  youth — his  features  seemed  to  have  exchanged 
thought  for  beauty,  and  he  towered  amidst  the  loveli- 
ness that  surrounded  him,  in  all  the  beaming  and  re- 
laxing benignity  of  the  Olympian  god. 

"  Drink,  feast,  love,  my  pupil !  "  said  he ;  "  blush  not 
that  thou  art  passionate  and  young.  That  which  thou 
art,  thou  feelest  in  thy  veins :  that  which  thou  shalt  be, 
survey !  " 

With  this  he  pointed  to  a  recess,  and  the  eyes  of  Apae- 
cides,  following  the  gesture,  beheld  on  a  pedestal, 
placed  between  the1  statues  of  Bacchus  and  Idalia,  the 
form  of  a  skeleton. 

"  Start  not,"  resumed  the  Egyptian ;  "  that  friendly 
guest  admonishes  us  but  of  the  shortness  of  life.  From 
its  jaws  I  hear  a  voice  that  summons  us  to  ENJOY." 

As  he  spoke,  a  group  of  nymphs  surrounded  the 


106        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

statue;  they  laid  chaplets  on  its  pedestal,  and,  while 
the  cups  were  emptied  and  refilled  at  that  glowing 
board,  they  sang  the  following  strain : — 

BACCHIC  HYMNS   TO  THE  IMAGE  OF  DEATH 


"  Thou  art  in  the  land  of  the  shadowy  Host, 

Thou  that  didst  drink  and  love : 
By  the  Solemn  River,  a  gliding  ghost. 
But  thy  thought  is  ours  above ! 
If  memory  yet  can  fly, 
Back  to  the  golden  sky, 
And  mourn  the  pleasures  lost! 
By  the  ruin'd  hafl  these  flowers  we  lay, 
Where  thy  soul  once  held  its  palace ; 
When  the  rose  to  thy  scent  and  sight  was  gay, 
And  the  smile  was  in  the  chalice, 
And  the  cithara's  silver  voice 
Could  bid  thy  heart  rejoice 
When  night  eclipsed  the  day." 

Here  a  new  group  advancing,  turned  the  tide  of  the 
music  into  a  quicker  and  more  joyous  strain: — 

n. 
"  Death,  death,  is  the  gloomy  shore, 

Where  we  all  sail — 
Soft,  soft,  thou  gliding  oar; 

Blow  soft,  sweet  gale ! 
Chain  with  bright  wreaths  the  Hours; 

Victims  if  all, 

Ever,  'mid  song  and  flowers, 
Victims  should  fall!" 

Pausing   for  a  moment,  yet  quicker  and  quicker 
danced  the  silver-footed  music: — 

"  Since  Life's  so  short,  we'll  live  to  laugh, 

Ah !  wherefore  waste  a  minute ! 
If  youth's  the  cup  we  yet  can  quaff, 
Be  love  the  pearl  within  it !  " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         107 

A  third  band  now  approached  with  brimming  cups, 
which  they  poured  in  libation  upon  that  strange  altar ; 
and  once  more  slow  and  solemn,  rose  the  changeful 
melody : — 

in. 
"  Thou  art  welcome,  Guest  of  gloom, 

From  the  far  and  fearful  sea ! 
When  the  last  rose  sheds  its  bloom, 
Our  board  shall  be  spread  with  thee ! 

All  hail,  dark  Guest! 
Who  hath  so  fair  a  plea 
Our  welcome  Guest  to  be, 
As  thou,  whose  solemn  hall 
At  last  shall  fea'st  us  all 
In  the  dim  and  dismal  coast? 
Long  yet  be  we  the  Host ! 
And  thou,  Dead  Shadow,  thou, 
All  joyless  though  thy  brow, 

Thou — but  our. passing  Guest!" 

At  this  moment,  she  who  sat  beside  Apaecides  sud- 
denly took  up  the  song : — 

IV. 

"  Happy  is  yet  our  doom, 

The  earth  and  the  sun  are  ours ! 
And  far  from  the  dreary  tomb 

Speed  the  wings  of  the  rosy  Hours — 
Sweet  is  for  thee  the  bowl, 

Sweet  are  thy  looks,  my  love ; 
I  fly  to  thy  tender  soul, 
As  the  bird  to  its  mated  dove ! 

Take  me,  ah,  take ! 
Clasp'd  to  thy  guardian  breast, 
Soft  let  me  sink  to  rest : 

But  wake  me — ah,  wake ! 
And  tell  me  with  words  and  sighs, 
But  more  with  thy  melting  eyes, 

That  my  sun  is  not  set — 
That  the  Torch  is  not  quench'd  at  the  Urn, 
That  we  love,  and  we  breathe,  and  burn, 
Tell  me — thou  lov'st  me  yet !  " 


BOOK  II 

Lucus  tremiscit.     Tota  succusso  solo 

Nutavit  aula,  dubia  quo  pondus  daret, 

Ac  fluctuant!  similis. — SENECA:  Thyestes,  v.  696. 

Trembled  the  grove.     Earth  quivered ;  with  the  shock 
Quaked  all  the  nodding  hall,  as  doubtful  where 
Ponderous  to  fall, — and  heaving  like  a  wave. 


CHAPTER  I 

"  A  FLASH  HOUSE  "  IN  POMPEII AND  THE  GENTLEMEN 

OF  THE  CLASSIC  RING. 

To  one  of  those  parts  of  Pompeii,  which  were  ten- 
anted not  by  the  lords  of  pleasure,  but  by  its  minions 
and  its  victims;  the  haunt  of  gladiators  and  prize- 
fighters ;  of  the  vicious  and  the  penniless ;  of  the  sav- 
age and  obscene ;  the  Alsatia  of  an  ancient  city — we  are 
now  transported. 

It  was  a  large  room  that  opened  at  once  on  the  con- 
fined and  crowded  lane.  Before  the  threshold  was  a 
group  of  men,  whose  iron  and  well-strung  muscles, 
whose  short  and  Herculean  necks,  whose  hardy  and 
reckless  countenances,  indicated  the  champions  of  the 
arena.  On  a  shelf,  without  the  shop,  were  ranged  jars 
of  wine  and  oil ;  and  right  over  this  was  inserted  in  the 
wall  a  coarse  painting,  which  exhibited  gladiators 
drinking — so  ancient  and  so  venerable  is  the  custom  of 
signs !  Within  the  room  were  placed  several  small 

1 08 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         109 

tables,  arranged  somewhat  in  the  modern  fashion  of 
"  boxes,"  and  round  these  were  seated  several  knots  of 
men,  some  drinking,  some  playing  at  dice,  some  at  that 
more  skilful  game  called  "  duodecim  scripts,"  which 
certain  of  the  blundering  learned  have  mistaken  for 
chess,  though  it  rather,  perhaps,  resembled  backgam- 
mon of  the  two,  and  was  usually,  though  not  always, 
played  by  the  assistance  of  dice.  The  hour  was  in  the 
early  afternoon,  and  nothing  better,  perhaps,  than  that 
unseasonable  time  itself  denoted  the  habitual  indolence 
of  these  tavern  loungers.  Yet,  despite  the  situation  of 
the  house  and  the  character  of  its  inmates,  it  indicated 
none  of  that  sordid  squalor  which  would  have  charac- 
terised a  similar  haunt  in  a  modern  city.  The  gay  dis- 
position of  all  the  Pompeians,  who  sought,  at  least,  to 
gratify  the  sense  even  where  they  neglected  the  mind, 
was  typified  by  the  gaudy  colours  which  decorated  the 
walls,  and  the  shapes,  fantastic  but  not  inelegant,  in 
which  the  lamps,  the  drinking-cups,  the  commonest 
household  utensils,  were  wrought. 

"  By  Pollux !  "  said  one  of  the  gladiators,  as  he 
leaned  against  the  wall  of  the  threshold,  "  the  wine 
thou  sellest  us,  old  Silenus," — and  as  he  spoke  he 
slapped  a  portly  personage  on  the  back, — "  is  enough 
to  thin  the  best  blood  in  one's  veins." 

The  man  thus  caressingly  saluted,  and  whose  bared 
arms,  white  apron,  and  keys  and  napkin  tucked  care- 
lessly within  his  girdle,  indicated  him  to  be  the  host 
of  the  tavern,  was  already  passed  into  the  autumn  of  his 
years ;  but  his  form  was  still  so  robust  and  athletic,  that 
he  might  have  shamed  even  the  sinewy  shapes  beside 
him,  save  that  the  muscles  had  seeded,  as  it  were,  into 
flesh,  that  the  cheeks  were  swelled  and  bloated,  and  the 
increasing  stomach  threw  into  shade  the  vast  and  mas- 
sive chest  which  rose  above  it. 


I  io        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  None  of  thy  scurrilous  blusterings  with  me," 
growled  the  gigantic  landlord,  in  the  gentle  semi-roar 
of  an  insulted  tiger,  "  my  wine  is  good  enough  for  a 
carcase  which  shall  so  soon  soak  the  dust  of  the 
spoliarium."  x 

"  Croakest  thou  thus,  old  raven ! "  returned  the 
gladiator,  laughing  scornfully ;  "  thou  shalt  live  to 
hang  thyself  with  despite  when  thou  seest  me  win  the 
palm  crown ;  and  when  I  get  the  purse  at  the  amphi- 
theatre, as  I  certainly  shall,  my  first  vow  to  Hercules 
shall  be  to  forswear  thee  and  thy  vile  potations  ever- 
more." 

"  Hear  to  him — hear  to  this  modest  Pyrgopolinices ! 
He  has  certainly  served  under  Bombochides  Clunin- 
staridysarchides,"  2  cried  the  host.  "  Sporus,  Niger, 
Tetraides,  he  declares  he  shall  win  the  purse  from  you. 
Why,  by  the  gods !  each  of  your  muscles  is  strong 
enough  to  stifle  all  his  body,  or  /  know  nothing  of  the 
arena !  " 

"  Ha !  "  said  the  gladiator,  colouring  with  rising 
fury,  "  our  lanista  would  tell  a  different  story." 

"  What  story  could  he  tell  against  me,  vain  Lydon  ?  " 
said  Tetraides,  frowning. 

"  Or  me,  who  have  conquered  in  fifteen  fights?  "  said 
the  gigantic  Niger,  stalking  up  to  the  gladiator. 

"  Or  me  ?  "  grunted  Sporus,  with  eyes  of  fire. 

"  Tush  !  "  said  Lydon,  folding  his  arms,  and  regard- 
ing his  rivals  with  a  reckless  air  of  defiance.  "  The 
time  of  trial  will  soon  come;  keep  your  valour  till 
then." 

1  The  place  to  which  the  killed  or  mortally  wounded  were 
dragged  from  the  arena. 

2  "  Miles  Gloriosus,"  Act  I. ;    as  much  as  to  say,  in  modern 
phrase,  "  He  has  served  under  Bombastes  Furioso." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         in 

"  Ay,  do,"  said  the  surly  host ;  "  and  if  I  press  down 
my  thumb  to  save  you,  may  the  Fates  cut  my  thread !  " 

"  Your  rope,  you  mean,"  said  Lydon,  sneeringly : 
"  here  is  a  sesterce  to  buy  one." 

The  Titan  wine-vender  seized  the  hand  extended  to 
him,  and  griped  it  in  so  stern  a  vice  that  the  blood 
spirted  from  the  fingers'  ends  over  the  garments  of  the 
bystanders. 

They  set  up  a  savage  laugh. 

"  I  will  teach  thee,  young  braggart,  to  play  the 
Macedonian  with  me !  I  am  no  puny  Persian,  I  war- 
rant thee !  What,  man  !  have  I  not  fought  twenty  years 
in  the  ring,  and  never  lowered  my  arms  once?  And 
have  I  not  received  the  rod  from  the  editor's  own  hand 
as  a  sign  of  victory,  and  as  a  grace  to  retirement  on  my 
laurels  ?  And  am  I  now  to  be  lectured  by  a  boy  ?  "  So 
saying,  he  flung  the  hand  from  him  in  scorn. 

Without  changing  a  muscle,  but  with  the  same  smil- 
ing face  with  which  he  had  previously  taunted  mine 
host,  did  the  gladiator  brave  the  painful  grasp  he  had 
undergone.  But  no  sooner  was  his  hand  released  than, 
crouching  for  one  moment  as  a  wild  cat  crouches,  you 
might  see  his  hair  bristle  on  his  head  and  beard,  and 
with  a  fierce  and  shrill  yell  he  sprang  on  the  throat  of 
the  giant,  with  an  impetus  that  threw  him,  vast  and 
sturdy  as  he  was,  from  his  balance; — and  down,  with 
the  crash  of  a  falling  rock,  he  fell; — while  over  him 
fell  also  his  ferocious  foe. 

Our  host,  perhaps,  had  had  no  need  of  the  rope  so 
kindly  recommended  to  him  by  Lydon,  had  he  re- 
mained three  minutes  longer  in  that  position.  But, 
summoned  to  his  assistance  by  the  noise  of  his  fall,  a 
woman,  who  had  hitherto  kept  in  an  inner  apartment, 
rushed  to  the  scene  of  battle.  "  This  new  ally  was  in 


112        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

herself  a  match  for  the  gladiator;  she  was  tall,  lean, 
and  with  arms  that  could  give  other  than  soft  embraces. 
In  fact,  the  gentle  helpmate  of  Burbo  the  wine-seller 
had,  like  himself,  fought  in  the  lists  1 — nay,  under  the 
emperor's  eye.  And  Burbo  himself — Burbo,  the  un- 
conquered  in  the  field,  according  to  report,  now  and 
then  yielded  the  palm  to  his  soft  Stratonice.  This 
sweet  creature  no  sooner  saw  the  imminent  peril  that 
awaited  her  worse  half,  than  without  other  weapons 
than  those  with  which  Nature  had  provided  her,  she 
darted  upon  the  incumbent  gladiator,  and,  clasping  him 
round  the  waist  with  her  long  and  snake-like  arms, 
lifted  him  by  a  sudden  wrench  from  the  body  of  her 
husband,  leaving  only  his  hands  still  clinging  to  the 
throat  of  his  foe.  So  have  we  seen  a  dog  snatched  by 
the  hind  legs  from  the  strife  with  a  fallen  rival  in  the 
arms  of  some  envious  groom ;  so  have  we  seen  one  half 
of  him  high  in  air — passive  and  offenceless — while  the 
other  half,  head,  teeth,  eyes,  claws,  seemed  buried  and 
engulfed  in  the  mangled  and  prostrate  enemy.  Mean- 
while the  gladiators,  lapped,  and  pampered,  and  glutted 
upon  blood,  crowded  delightedly  round  the  combatants 
— their  nostrils  distended — their  lips  grinning — their 
eyes  gloatingly  fixed  on  the  bloody  throat  of  the  one 
and  the  indented  talons  of  the  other. 

"  Habet!  (he  has  got  it!)  habet!"  cried  they,  with 
a  sort  of  yell,  rubbing  their  nervous  hands. 

"  Non  habeo,  ye  liars ;  I  have  not  got  it !  "  shouted 
the  host,  as  with  a  mighty  effort  he  wrenched  himself 
from  those  deadly  hands,  and  rose  to  his  feet,  breath- 
less, panting,  lacerated,  bloody;  and  fronting,  with 

1  Not  only  did  women  sometimes  fight  in  the  amphitheatres, 
but  even  those  of  noble  birth  participated  in  that  meek  am- 
bition. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         113 

reeling  eyes,  the  glaring  look  and  grinning  teeth  of  his 
baffled  foe,  now  struggling  (but  struggling  with  dis- 
dain) in  the  gripe  of  the  sturdy  amazon. 

"  Fair  play !  "  cried  the  gladiators :  "  one  to  one ;  " 
and  crowding  round  Lydon  and  the  woman,  they  sepa- 
rated our  pleasing  host  from  his  courteous  guest. 

But  Lydon,  feeling  ashamed  at  his  present  position, 
and  endeavouring  in  vain  to  shake  off  the  grasp  of  the 
virago,  slipped  his  hand  into  his  girdle,  and  drew  forth 
a  short  knife.  So  menacing  was  his  look,  so  brightly 
gleamed  the  blade,  that  Stratonice,  who  was  used  only 
to  that  fashion  of  battle  which  we  moderns  call  the 
pugilistic,  started  back  in  alarm. 

"  O  gods  !  "  cried  she,  "  the  ruffian ! — he  has  con- 
cealed weapons!  Is  that  fair?  Is  that  like  a  gentle- 
man and  a  gladiator?  No,  indeed,  I  scorn  such  fel- 
lows." With  that  she  contemptuously  turned  her  back 
on  the  gladiator,  and  hastened  to  examine  the  condi- 
tion of  her  husband. 

But  he,  as  much  inured  to  the  constitutional  exer- 
cises as  an  English  bull-dog  is  to  a  contest  with  a  more 
gentle  antagonist,  had  already  recovered  himself.  The 
purple  hues  receded  from  the  crimson  surface  of  his 
cheek,  the  veins  of  the  forehead  retired  into  their 
wonted  size.  He  shook  himself  with  a  complacent 
grunt,  satisfied  that  he  was  still  alive,  and  then  looking 
at  his  foe  from  head  to  foot  with  an  air  of  more  appro- 
bation than  he  had  ever  bestowed  upon  him  before — 

"  By  Castor !  "  said  he,  "  thou  art  a  stronger  fellow 
than  I  took  thee  for!  I  see  thou  art  a  man  of  merit 
and  virtue ;  give  me  thy  hand,  my  hero !  " 

"  Jolly  old  Burbo !  "  cried  the  gladiators,  applaud- 
ing ;  "  stanch  to  the  backbone.     Give  him  thy  hand, 
Lydon." 
8 


114        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  gladiator ;  "  but  now  I 
have  tasted  his  blood,  I  long  to  lap  the  whole." 

"  By  Hercules !  "  returned  the  host,  quite  unmoved, 
"  that  is  the  true  gladiator  feeling.  Pollux !  to  think 
what  good  training  may  make  a  man ;  why,  a  beast 
could  not  be  fiercer !  " 

"  A  beast !  O  dullard !  we  beat  the  beasts  hollow !  " 
cried  Tetraides. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Stratonice,  who  was  now  em- 
ployed in  smoothing  her  hair  and  adjusting  her  dress, 
"  if  ye  are  all  good  friends  again,  I  recommend  you  to 
be  quiet  and  orderly ;  for  some  young  noblemen,  your 
patrons  and  backers,  have  sent  to  say  they  will  come 
here  to  pay  you  a  visit:  they  wish  to  see  you  more  at 
their  ease  than  at  the  schools,  before  they  make  up  their 
bets  on  the  great  fight  at  the  amphitheatre.  So  they 
always  come  to  my  house  for  that  purpose :  they  know 
we  only  receive  the  best  gladiators  in  Pompeii — our 
society  is  very  select — praised  be  the  gods !  " 

"  Yes,"  continued  Burbo,  drinking  off  a  bowl,  or 
rather  a  pail  of  wine,  "  a  man  who  has  won  my  laurels 
can  only  encourage  the  brave.  Lydon,  drink,  my  boy ; 
may  you  have  an  honourable  old  age  like  mine !  " 

"  Come  here,"  said  Stratonice,  drawing  her  husband 
to  her  affectionately  by  the  ears,  in  that  caress  which 
Tibullus  has  so  prettily  described — "  come  here !  " 

"  Not  so  hard,  she- wolf !  thou  art  worse  than  the 
gladiator,"  murmured  the  huge  jaws  of  Burbo. 

"  Hist !  "  said  she,  whispering  him ;  "  Calenus  has 
just  stole  in,  disguised,  by  the  back  way.  I  hope  he  has 
brought  the  sesterces." 

"Ho!  ho!  I  will  join  him,"  said  Burbo;  "mean- 
while, I  say,  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  the  cups — attend  to 
the  score.  Let  them  not  cheat  thee,  wife;  they  are 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         115 

heroes,  to  be  sure,  but  then  they  are  arrant  rogues: 
Cacus  was  nothing  to  them." 

"  Never  fear  me,  fool !  "  was  the  conjugal  reply,  and 
Burbo,  satisfied  with  the  dear  assurance,  strode  through 
the  apartment,  and  sought  the  penetralia  of  his  house. 

"  So  these  soft  patrons  are  coming  to  look  at  our 
muscles,"  said  Niger.  "  Who  sent,  to  previse  thee  of 
it,  my  mistress  ?  " 

"  Lepidus.  He  brings  with  him  Clodius,  the  surest 
better  in  Pompeii,  and  the  young  Greek,  Glaucus." 

"  A  wager  on  a  wager,"  cried  Tetraides ;  "  Clodius 
bets  on  me,  for  twenty  sesterces !  What  say  you,  Ly- 
don?" 

"  He  bets  on  me ! "  said  Lydon. 

"  No,  on  me ! "  grunted  Sporus. 

"  Dolts !  do  you  think  he  would  prefer  any  of  you  to 
Niger  ?  "  said  the  athletic,  thus  modestly  naming  him- 
self. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Stratonice,  as  she  pierced  a  huge 
amphora  for  her  guests,  who  had  now  seated  them- 
selves before  one  of  the  tables,  "  great  men  and  brave, 
as  ye  all  think  yourselves,  which  of  you  will  fight  the 
Numidian  lion  in  case  no  malefactor  should  be  found 
to  deprive  you  of  the  option  ?  " 

"  I  who  have  escaped  your  arms,  stout  Stratonice," 
said  Lydon,  "  might  safely,  I  think,  encounter  the  lion." 

"  But  tell  me,"  said  Tetraides,  "  where  is  that  pretty 
young  slave  of  yours — the  blind  girl,  with  bright  eyes  ? 
I  have  not  seen  her  for  a  long  time." 

"  Oh !  she  is  too  delicate  for  you,  my  son  of  Nep- 
tune," *  said  the  hostess,  "  and  too  nice  even  for  us,  I 
think.  We  send  her  into  the  town  to  sell  flowers  and 
sing  to  the  ladies:  she  makes  us  more  money  so  than 

1  Son  of  Neptune — a  Latin  phrase  for  a  boisterous,  ferocious 
fellow. 


u6        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

she  would  by  waiting  on  you.  Besides,  she  has  often 
other  employments  which  lie  under  the  rose." 

"  Other  employments !  "  said  Niger ;  "  why,  she  is 
too  young  for  them." 

"  Silence,  beast !  "  said  Stratonice ;  "  you  think  there 
is  no  play  but  the  Corinthian.  If  Nydia  were  twice  the 
age  she  is  at  present,  she  would  be  equally  fit  for  Vesta 
— poor  girl !  " 

"  But,  hark  ye,  Stratonice,"  said  Lydon ;  "  how  didst 
thou  come  by  so  gentle  and  delicate  a  slave  ?  She  were 
more  meet  for  the  handmaid  of  some  rich  matron  of 
Rome  than  for  thee." 

'''  That  is  true,"  returned  Stratonice ;  "  and  some  day 
or  other  I  shall  make  my  fortune  by  selling  her.  How 
came  I  by  Nydia,  thou  askest  ?  " 

"Ay!" 

"  Why,  thou  seest,  my  slave  Staphyla — thou  remem- 
berest  Staphyla,  Niger  ?  " 

"  Ay,  a  large-handed  wench,  with  face  like  a  comic 
mask.  How  should  I  forget  her,  by  Pluto,  whose  hand- 
maid she  doubtless  is  at  this  moment !  " 

"  Tush,  brute ! — Well,  Staphyla  died  one  day,  and  a 
great  loss  she  was  to  me,  and  I  went  into  the  market 
to  buy  me  another  slave.  But,  by  the  gods !  they  were 
all  grown  so  dear  since  I  had  bought  poor  Staphyla, 
and  money  was  so  scarce,  that  I  was  about  to  leave  the 
place  in  despair,  when  a  merchant  plucked  me  by  the 
robe.  '  Mistress,'  said  he,  '  dost  thou  want  a  slave 
cheap?  I  have  a  child  to  sell — a  bargain.  She  is  but 
little,  and  almost  an  infant,  it  is  true ;  but  she  is  quick 
and  quiet,  docile  and  clever,  sings  well,  and  is  of  good 
blood,  I  assure  you.'  '  Of  what  country  ? '  said  I. 
'  Thessalian.'  Now  I  knew  the  Thessalians  were  acute 
and  gentle ;  so  I  said  I  would  see  the  girl.  I  found  her 
just  as  you  see  her  now,  scarcely  smaller  and  scarcely 


younger  in  appearance.  She  looked  patient  and  re- 
signed enough,  with  her  hands  crossed  on  her  bosom, 
and  her  eyes  downcast.  I  asked  the  merchant  his  price : 
it  was  moderate,  and  I  bought  her  at  once.  The  mer- 
chant brought  her  to  my  house,  and  disappeared  in  an 
instant.  Well,  my  friends,  guess  my  astonishment 
when  I  found  she  was  blind !  Ha !  ha !  a  clever  fellow 
that  merchant !  I  ran  at  once  to  the  magistrates,  but 
the  rogue  was  already  gone  from  Pompeii.  So  I  was 
forced  to  go  home  in  a  very  ill  humour,  I  assure  you ; 
and  the  poor  girl  felt  the  effects  of  it  too.  But  it  was 
not  her  fault  that  she  was  blind,  for  she  had  been  so 
from  her  birth.  By  degrees,  we  got  reconciled  to  our 
purchase.  True,  she  had  not  the  strength  of  Staphyla, 
and  was  of  very  little  use  in  the  house,  but  she  could 
soon  find  her  way  about  the  town  as  well  as  if  she  had 
the  eyes  of  Argus ;  and  when  one  morning  she  brought 
us  home  a  handful  of  sesterces,  which  she  said  she  had 
got  from  selling  some  flowers  she  had  gathered  in  our 
poor  little  garden,  we  thought  the  gods  had  sent  her 
to  us.  So  from  that  time  we  let  her  go  out  as  she  likes, 
filling  her  basket  with  flowers,  which  she  wreathes  into 
garlands  after  the  Thessalian  fashion,  which  pleases 
the  gallants ;  and  the  great  people  seem  to  take  a  fancy 
to  her,  for  they  always  pay  her  more  than  they  do  any 
other  flower-girl,  and  she  brings  all  of  it  home  to  us, 
which  is  more  than  any  other  slave  would  do.  So  I 
work  for  myself,  but  I  shall  soon  afford  from  her  earn- 
ings to  buy  me  a  second  Staphyla ;  doubtless,  the  Thes- 
salian kidnapper  had  stolen  the  blind  girl  from  gentle 
parents.1  Besides  her  skill  in  the  garlands,  she  sings 

1  The  Thessalian  slave-merchants  were  celebrated  for  pur- 
loining persons  of  birth  and  education ;  they  did  not  always 
spare  those  of  their  own  country.  Aristophanes  sneers  bit- 
terly at  that  people  (proverbially  treacherous)  for  their  un- 
quenchable desire  of  gain  by  this  barter  of  flesh. 


Ii8        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

and  plays  on  the  cithara,  which  also  brings  money,  and 
lately but  that  is  a  secret." 

"  That  is  a  secret !  What !  "  cried  Lydon,  "  art  thou 
turned  sphinx  ?  " 

"  Sphinx,  no ! — why  sphinx  ?  " 

"  Cease  thy  gabble,  good  mistress,  and  bring  us  our 
meat — I  am  hungry,"  said  Sporus,  impatiently. 

"  And  I,  too,"  echoed  the  grim  Niger,  whetting  his 
knife  on  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

The  amazon  stalked  away  to  the  kitchen,  and  soon 
returned  with  a  tray  laden  with  large  pieces  of  meat 
half  raw:  for  so,  as  now,  did  the  heroes  of  the  prize- 
fight imagine  they  best  sustained  their  hardihood  and 
ferocity;  they  drew  round  the  table  with  the  eyes  of 
famished  wolves — the  meat  vanished,  the  wine  flowed. 
So  leave  we  those  important  personages  of  classic  life 
to  follow  the  steps  of  Burbo. 


CHAPTER   II 

TWO    WORTHIES. 

In  the  earlier  times  of  Rome  the  priesthood  was  a 
profession,  not  of  lucre  but  of  honour.  It  was  em- 
braced by  the  noblest  citizens — it  was  forbidden  to  the 
plebeians.  Afterwards,  and  long  previous  to  the  pres- 
ent date,  it  was  equally  open  to  all  ranks ;  at  least,  that 
part  of  the  profession  which  embraced  the  flamens,  or 
priests, — not  of  religion  generally,  but  of  peculiar 
gods.  Even  the  priest  of  Jupiter  (the  Flamen  Dialis), 
preceded  by  a  lictor,  and  entitled  by  his  office  to  the 
entrance  of  the  senate,  at  first  the  especial  dignitary 
of  the  patricians,  was  subsequently  the  choice  of  the 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         119 

people.  The  less  national  and  less  honoured  deities 
were  usually  served  by  plebeian  ministers;  and  many 
embraced  the  profession,  as  now  the  Roman  Catholic 
Christians  enter  the  monastic  fraternity,  less  from  the 
impulse  of  devotion  than  the  suggestions  of  a  calcu- 
lating poverty.  Thus  Calenus,  the  priest  of  Isis,  was 
of  the  lowest  origin.  His  relations,  though  not  his 
parents,  were  freedmen.  He  had  received  from  them  a 
liberal  education,  and  from  his  father  a  small  patri- 
mony, which  he  had  soon  exhausted.  He  embraced  the 
priesthood  as  a  last  resource  from  distress.  Whatever 
the  state  emoluments  of  the  sacred  profession,  which  at 
that  time  were  probably  small,  the  officers  of  a  popular 
temple  could  never  complain  of  the  profits  of  their 
calling.  There  is  no  profession  so  lucrative  as  that 
which  practises  on  the  superstition  of  the  multitude. 

Calenus  had  but  one  surviving  relative  at  Pompeii, 
and  that  was  Burbo.  Various  dark  and  disreputable 
ties,  stronger  than  those  of  blood,  united  together  their 
hearts  and  interests ;  and  often  the  minister  of  Isis  stole 
disguised  and  furtively  from  the  supposed  austerity 
of  his  devotions ; — and  gliding  through  the  back  door 
of  the  retired  gladiator,  a  man  infamous  alike  by  vices 
and  by  profession,  rejoiced  to  throw  off  the  last  rag  of 
an  hypocrisy  which  but  for  the  dictates  of  avarice,  his 
ruling  passion,  would  at  all  times  have  sat  clumsily 
upon  a  nature  too  brutal  for  even  the  mimicry  of  virtue. 

Wrapped  in  one  of  those  large  mantles  which  came 
in  use  among  the  Romans  in  proportion  as  they  dis- 
missed the  toga,  whose  ample  folds  well  concealed  the 
form,  and  in  which  a  sort  of  hood  (attached  to  it)  af- 
forded no  less  a  security  to  the  features,  Calenus  now 
sat  in  the  small  private  chamber  of  the  wine-cellar, 
whence  a  small  passage  ran  at  once  to  that  back  en- 


120        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

trance,  with  which  nearly  all  the  houses  of  Pompeii 
were  furnished. 

Opposite  to  him  sat  the  sturdy  Burbo,  carefully 
counting  on  a  table  between  them  a  pile  of  coins  which 
the  priest  had  just  poured  from  his  purse — for  purses 
were  as  common  then  as  now,  with  this  difference — 
they  were  usually  better  furnished ! 

"  You  see,"  said  Calenus,  "  that  we  pay  you  hand- 
somely, and  you  ought  to  thank  me  for  recommending 
you  to  so  advantageous  a  market." 

"  I  do,  my  cousin,  I  do,"  replied  Burbo,  affection- 
ately, as  he  swept  the  coins  into  a  leathern  receptacle, 
which  he  then  deposited  in  his  girdle,  drawing  the 
buckle  round  his  capacious  waist  more  closely  than  he 
was  wont  to  do  in  the  lax  hours  of  his  domestic  avoca- 
tions. "  And  by  Isis,  Pisis,  and  Nisis,  or  whatever 
other  gods  there  may  be  in  Egypt,  my  little  Nydia  is  a 
very  Hesperides — a  garden  of  gold  to  me." 

"  She  sings  well,  and  plays  like  a  muse,"  returned 
Calenus ;  "  those  are  virtues  that  he  who  employs  me 
always  pays  liberally." 

"  He  is  a  god,"  cried  Burbo,  enthusiastically ;  "  every 
rich  man  who  is  generous  deserves  to  be  worshipped. 
But  come,  a  cup  of  wine,  old  friend :  tell  me  more  about 
it.  What  does  she  do?  she  is  frightened,  talks  of  her 
oath,  and  reveals  nothing." 

"  Nor  will  I,  by  my  right  hand !  I,  too,  have  taken 
that  terrible  oath  of  secrecy." 

"  Oath !  what  are  oaths  to  men  like  us  ?  " 

"  True,  oaths  of  a  common  fashion  ;  but  this !  " — 
and  the  stalwart  priest  shuddered  as  he  spoke.  "  Yet," 
he  continued,  in  emptying  a  huge  cup  of  unmixed  wine, 
"  I  will  own  to  thee,  that  it  is  not  so  much  the  oath  that 
I  dread  as  the  vengeance  of  him  who  proposed  it.  By 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         121 

the  gods !  he  is  a  mighty  sorcerer,  and  could  draw  my 
confession  from  the  moon,  did  I  dare  to  make  it  to  her. 
Talk  no  more  of  this.  By  Pollux !  wild  as  those  ban- 
quets are  which  I  enjoy  with  him,  I  am  never  quite  at 
my  ease  there.  I  love,  my  boy,  one  jolly  hor.r  with 
thee,  and  one  of  the  plain,  unsophisticated,  laughing 
girls  that  I  meet  in  this  chamber,  all  smoked-dried 
though  it  be,  better  than  whole  nights  of  those  mag- 
nificent debauches." 

"  Ho !  sayest  thou  so  ?  To-morrow  night,  please  the 
gods,  we  will  have  then  a  snug  carousal." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  the  priest,  rubbing  his 
hands,  and  drawing  himself  nearer  to  the  table. 

At  this  moment  they  heard  a  slight  noise  at  the  door, 
as  of  one  feeling  the  handle.  The  priest  lowered  the 
hood  over  his  head. 

"  Tush ! "  whispered  the  host,  "  it  is  but  the  blind 
girl,"  as  Nydia  opened  the  door  and  entered  the  apart- 
ment. 

"  Ho !  girl,  and  how  durst  thou  ?  thou  lookest  pale, — 
thou  hast  kept  late  revels.  No  matter,  the  young  must 
be  always  the  young,"  said  Burbo,  encouragingly. 

The  girl  made  no  answer,  but  she  dropped  on  one  of 
the  seats  with  an  air  of  lassitude.  Her  colour  went  and 
came  rapidly:  she  beat  the  floor  impatiently  with  her 
small  feet,  then  she  suddenly  raised  her  face,  and  said 
with  a  determined  voice, — 

"  Master,  you  may  starve  me  if  you  will, — you  may 
beat  me, — you  may  threaten  me  with  death, — but  I 
will  go  no  more  to  that  unholy  place !  " 

"  How,  fool !  "  said  Burbo,  in  a  savage  voice,  and 
his  heavy  brows  met  darkly  over  his  fierce  and  blood- 
shot eyes ;  "  how,  rebellious !  Take  care." 

"  I  have  said  it,"  said  the  poor  girl,  crossing  her 
hands  on  her  breast. 


122        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  What !  my  modest  one,  sweet  vestal,  thou  wilt  go 
no  more !  Very  well,  thou  shalt  be  carried." 

"  I  will  raise  the  city  with  my  cries,"  said  she,  pas- 
sionately ;  and  the  colour  mounted  to  her  brow. 

"  We  will  take  care  of  that  too ;  thou  shalt  go 
gagged." 

"  Then  may  the  gods  help  me !  "  said  Nydia,  rising ; 
"  I  will  appeal  to  the  magistrates." 

"  Thine  oath  remember!  "  said  a  hollow  voice,  as  for 
the  first  time  Calenus  joined  in  the  dialogue. 

At  those  words  a  trembling  shook  the  frame  of  the 
unfortunate  girl;  she  clasped  her  hands  imploringly. 
"  Wretch  that  I  am !  "  she  cried,  and  burst  violently 
into  sobs. 

Whether  or  not  it  was  the  sound  of  that  vehement 
sorrow  which  brought  the  gentle  Stratonice  to  the  spot, 
her  grisly  form  at  this  moment  appeared  in  the  cham- 
ber. 

"  How  now  ?  what  hast  thou  been  doing  with  my 
slave,  brute?  "  said  she,  angrily,  to  Burbo. 

"  Be  quiet,  wife,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  half-sullen,  half- 
timid  ;  "  you  want  new  girdles  and  fine  clothes,  do  you  ? 
Well  then,  take  care  of  your  slave,  or  you  may  want 
them  long.  V<z  capiti  tuo — vengeance  on  thy  head, 
wretched  one !  " 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  said  the  hag,  looking  from  one  to 
the  other. 

Nydia  started  as  by  a  sudden  impulse  from  the  wall 
against  which  she  had  leaned ;  she  threw  herself  at  the 
feet  of  Stratonice ;  she  embraced  her  knees,  and  look- 
ing up  at  her  with  those  sightless  but  touching  eyes — 

"  O  my  mistress !  "  sobbed  she,  "  you  are  a  woman — 
you  have  had  sisters, — you  hare  been  young  like  me, — 
feel  for  me, — save  me!  I  will  go  to  those  horrible 
feasts  no  more !  " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         123 

"  Stuff !  "  said  the  hag,  dragging  her  up  rudely  by 
one  of  those  delicate  hands,  fit  for  no  harsher  labour 
than  that  of  weaving  the  flowers  which  made  her  pleas- 
ure or  her  trade ; — "  stuff !  these  fine  scruples  are  not 
for  slaves." 

"  Hark  ye,"  said  Burbo,  drawing  forth  his  purse,  and 
chinking  its  contents ;  "  you  hear  this  music,  wife ;  by 
Pollux !  if  you  do  not  break  in  yon  colt  with  a  tight 
rein,  you  will  hear  it  no  more." 

"  The  girl  is  tired,"  said  Stratonice,  nodding  to  Ca- 
lenus ;  "  she  will  be  more  docile  when  you  next  want 
her." 

"  You!  you!  who  is  here?  "  cried  Nydia,  casting  her 
eyes  round  the  apartment  with  so  fearful  and  straining 
a  survey,  that  Calenus  rose  in  alarm  from  his  seat, — 

"  She  must  see  with  those  eyes !  "  muttered  he. 

"Who  is  here?  Speak,  in  Heaven's  name!  Ah,  if 
you  were  blind  like  me,  you  would  be  less  cruel,"  said 
she ;  and  she  again  burst  into  tears. 

"  Take  her  away,"  said  Burbo,  impatiently ;  "  I  hate 
these  whimperings." 

"  Come !  "  said  Stratonice,  pushing  the  poor  child  by 
the  shoulders. 

Nydia  drew  herself  aside,  with  an  air  to  which  reso- 
lution gave  dignity. 

"  Hear  me/'  she  said ;  "  I  have  served  you  faithfully, 
— I,  who  was  brought  up — ah!  my  mother,  my  poor 
mother !  didst  thou  dream  I  should  come  to  this  ? " 
She  dashed  the  tear  from  her  eyes,  and  proceeded : — 
"  Command  me  in  aught  else,  and  I  will  obey ;  but  I 
tell  you  now,  hard,  stern,  inexorable  as  you  are, — I  tell 
you  that  I  will  go  there  no  more;  or,  if  I  am  forced 
there,  that  I  will  implore  the  mercy  of  the  praetor  him- 
self— I  have  said  it.  Hear  me,  ye  gods,  I  swear !  " 


124        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  hag's  eyes  glowed  with  fire ;  she  seized  the  child 
by  the  hair  with  one  hand,  and  raised  on  high  the  other 
— that  formidable  right  hand,  the  least  blow  of  which 
seemed  capable  to  crush  the  frail  and  delicate  form 
that  trembled  in  her  grasp.  That  thought  itself  ap- 
peared to  strike  her,  for  she  suspended  the  blow, 
changed  her  purpose,  and  dragging  Nydia  to  the  wall, 
seized  from  a  hook  a  rope,  often,  alas !  applied  to  a 
similar  purpose,  and  the  next  moment  the  shrill,  the 
agonised  shrieks  of  the  blind  girl  rang  piercingly 
through  the  house. 


CHAPTER   III 

GLAUCUS  MAKES  A  PURCHASE  THAT  AFTERWARDS  COSTS 
HIM    DEAR. 

"  Holla,  my  brave  fellows !  "  said  Lepidus,  stooping 
his  head,  as  he  entered  the  low  doorway  of  the  house 
of  Burbo.  "  We  have  come  to  see  which  of  you  most 
honours  your  lanista."  The  gladiators  rose  from  the 
table  in  respect  to  three  gallants  known  to  be  among  the 
gayest  and  richest  youths  of  Pompeii,  and  whose  voices 
were  therefore  the  dispensers  of  amphitheatrical  repu- 
tation. 

"  What  fine  animals !  "  said  Clodius  to  Glaucus : 
"  worthy  to  be  gladiators  !  " 

"  It  is  a  pity  they  are  not  warriors,"  returned  Glau- 
cus. 

A  singular  thing  it  was  to  see  the  dainty  and  fas- 
tidious Lepidus,  whom  in  a  banquet  a  ray  of  daylight 
seemed  to  blind, — whom  in  the  bath  a  breeze  of  air 
seemed  to  blast, — in  whom  Nature  seemed  twisted  and 
perverted  from  every  natural  impulse,  and  curdled  into 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         125 

one  dubious  thing  of  effeminacy  and  art; — a  singular 
thing  was  it  to  see  this  Lepidus,  now  all  eagerness,  and 
energy,  and  life,  patting  the  vast  shoulders  of  the  gladi- 
ators with  a  blanched  and  girlish  hand,  feeling  with  a 
mincing  gripe  their  great  brawn  and  iron  muscles,  all 
lost  in  calculating  admiration  at  that  manhood  which 
he  had  spent  his  life  in  carefully  banishing  from  him- 
self. 

So  have  we  seen  at  this  day  the  beardless  flutterers 
of  the  saloons  of  London  thronging  round  the  heroes 
of  the  Fivescourt ; — so  have  we  seen  them  admire,  and 
gaze,  and  calculate  a  bet ; — so  have  we  seen  them  meet 
together,  in  ludicrous  yet  in  melancholy  assemblage, 
the  two  extremes  of  civilised  society, — the  patrons  of 
pleasure  and  its  slaves — vilest  of  all  slaves — at  once 
ferocious  and  mercenary ;  male  prostitutes,  who  sell 
their  strength  as  women  their  beauty ;  beasts  in  act,  but 
baser  than  beasts  in  motive,  for  the  last,  at  least,  do  not 
mangle  themselves  for  money ! 

"Ha!  Niger,  how  will  you  fight?"  said  Lepidus; 
"  and  with  whom  ?  " 

"  Sporus  challenges  me,"  said  the  grim  giant ;  "  we 
shall  fight  to  the  death,  I  hope." 

"  Ah !  to  be  sure,"  grunted  Sporus,  with  a  twinkle 
of  his  small  eye. 

"  He  takes  the  sword,  I  the  net  and  the  trident ;  it 
will  be  rare  sport.  I  hope  the  survivor  will  have 
enough  to  keep  up  the  dignity  of  the  crown." 

"  Never  fear,  we'll  fill  the  purse,  my  Hector,"  said 
Clodius :  "  let  me  see, — you  fight  against  Niger  ?  Glau- 
cus,  a  bet — I  back  Niger." 

"  I  told  you  so,"  cried  Niger  exultingly.  "  The 
noble  Clodius  knows  me ;  count  yourself  dead  already, 
my  Sporus." 


126        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Clodius  took  out  his  tablet. — "  A  bet, — ten  sestertia.1 
What  say  you  ?  " 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Glaucus.  "  But  whom  have  we 
here  ?  I  never  saw  this  hero  before ;  "  and  he  glanced 
at  Lydon,  whose  limbs  were  slighter  than  those  of  his 
companions,  and  who  had  something  of  grace,  and 
something  even  of  nobleness,  in  his  face,  which  his 
profession  had  not  yet  wholly  destroyed. 

"  It  is  Lydon,  a  youngster,  practised  only  with  the 
wooden  sword  as  yet,"  answered  Niger,  condescend- 
ingly. "  But  he  has  the  true  blood  in  him,  and  has 
challenged  Tetraides." 

"  He  challenged  me,"  said  Lydon :  "  I  accept  the 
offer." 

"  And  how  do  you  fight  ?  "  asked  Lepidus.  "  Chut, 
my  boy,  wait  a  while  before  you  contend  with  Tet- 
raides." Lydon  smiled  disdainfully. 

"  Is  he  a  citizen  or  a  slave  ?  "  said  Clodius. 

"  A  citizen ; — we  are  all  citizens  here,"  quoth  Niger. 

"  Stretch  out  your  arm,  my  Lydon,"  said  Lepidus, 
with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 

The  gladiator,  with  a  significant  glance  at  his  com- 
panions, extended  an  arm  which,  if  not  so  huge  in  its 
girth  as  those  of  his  comrades,  was  so  firm  in  its  mus- 
cles, so  beautifully  symmetrical  in  its  proportions,  that 
the  three  visitors  uttered  simultaneously  an  admiring 
exclamation. 

"  Well,  man,  what  is  your  weapon  ?  "  said  Clodius, 
tablet  in  hand. 

"  We  are  to  fight  first  with  the  cestus ;  afterwards, 
if  both  survive,  with  swords,"  returned  Tetraides, 
sharply,  and  with  an  envious  scowl. 

"  With  the  cestus !  "  cried  Glaucus ;  "  there  you  are 
1  A  little  more  than  £80. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         127 

wrong,  Lydon ;  the  cestus  is  the  Greek  fashion :  I  know 
it  well.  You  should  have  encouraged  flesh  for  that 
contest ;  you  are  far  too  thin  for  it — avoid  the  cestus." 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Lydon. 

"And  why?" 

"  I  have  said — because  he  has  challenged  me." 

"  But  he  will  not  hold  you  to  the  precise  weapon." 

"  My  honour  holds  me !  "  returned  Lydon,  proudly. 

"  I  bet  on  Tetraides,  two  to  one,  at  the  cestus,"  said 
Clodius ;  "  shall  it  be,  Lepidus  ? — even  betting,  with 
swords." 

"  If  you  give  me  three  to  one,  I  will  not  take  the 
odds,"  said  Lepidus :  "  Lydon  will  never  come  to  the 
swords.  You  are  mighty  courteous." 

"  What  say  you,  Glaucus  ?  "  said  Clodius. 

"  I  will  take  the  odds  three  to  one." 

"  Ten  sestertia  to  thirty." 

"  Yes."  * 

Clodius  wrote  the  bet  in  his  book. 

"  Pardon  me,  noble  sponsor  mine,"  said  Lydon,  in  a 
low  voice  to  Glaucus :  "  but  how  much  think  you  the 
victor  will  gain  ?  " 

"  How  much  ?  why,  perhaps  seven  sestertia." 

"  You  are  sure  it  will  be  as  much  ?  " 

"  At  least.  But  out  on  you ! — a  Greek  would  have 
thought  of  the  honour,  and  not  the  money.  O  Italians  I 
everywhere  ye  are  Italians !  " 

A  blush  mantled  over  the  bronzed  cheek  of  the  gladi- 
ator. 

"  Do  not  wrong  me,  noble  Glaucus ;  I  think  of  both, 
but  I  should  never  have  been  a  gladiator  but  for  the 
money." 

l  The  reader  will  not  confound  the  sester/«  with  the  sester- 
tia.  A  sesterfittw,  which  was  a  sum,  not  a  coin,  was  a  thou- 
sand times  the  value  of  a  sestertius;  the  first  was  equivalent 
to  £8  is.  sl/2d.,  the  last  to  id.  3^4  farthings  of  our  money. 


128         THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"Base!  mayest  thou  fall!  A  miser  never  was.  a 
hero." 

"  I  am  not  a  miser,"  said  Lydon,  haughtily,  and  he 
withdrew  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"  But  I  don't  see  Burbo ;  where  is  Burbo  ?  I  must 
talk  with  Burbo,"  cried  Clodius. 

"  He  is  within,"  said  Niger,  pointing  to  the  door  at 
the  extremity  of  the  room. 

"  And  Stratonice,  the  brave  old  lass,  where  is  she  ?  " 
quoth  Lepidus. 

"  Why,  she  was  here  just  before  you  entered ;  but 
she  heard  something  that  displeased  her  yonder,  and 
vanished.  Pollux !  old  Burbo  had  perhaps  caught  hold 
of  some  girl  in  the  back  room.  I  heard  a  female's  voice 
crying  out ;  the  old  dame  is  as  jealous  as  Juno." 

"  Ho !  excellent !  "  cried  Lepidus  laughing.  "  Come, 
Clodius,  let  us  go  shares  with  Jupiter ;  perhaps  he  has 
caught  a  Leda." 

At  this  moment  a  loud  cry  of  pain  and  terror  startled 
the  group. 

"  Oh,  spare  me !  spare  me !  I  am  but  a  child,  I  am 
blind — is  not  that  punishment  enough." 

"  O  Pallas !  I  know  that  voice,  it  is  my  poor  flower- 
girl  !  "  exclaimed  Glaucus,  and  he  darted  at  once  into 
the  quarter  whence  the  cry  rose. 

He  burst  the  door ;  he  beheld  Nydia  writhing  in  the 
grasp  of  the  infuriate  hag;  the  cord,  already  dabbled 
with  blood,  was  raised  in  the  air — it  was  suddenly  ar- 
rested. 

"  Fury !  "  said  Glaucus,  and  with  his  left  hand  he 
caught  Nydia  from  her  grasp ;  "  how  dare  you  use  thus 
a  girl — one  of  your  own  sex,  a  child !  My  Nydia,  my 
poor  infant !  " 

"  Oh !  is  that  you — is  that  Glaucus  ?  "  exclaimed  the 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        129 

flower-girl,  in  a  tone  almost  of  transport;  the  tears 
stood  arrested  on  her  cheek ;  she  smiled,  she  clung  to 
his  breast,  she  kissed  his  robe  as  she  clung. 

"  And  how  dare  you,  pert  stranger !  interfere  be- 
tween a  free  woman  and  her  slave?  By  the  gods! 
despite  your  fine  tunic  and  your  filthy  perfumes,  I  doubt 
whether  you  are  even  a  Roman  citizen,  my  mannikin." 

"  Fair  words,  mistress — fair  words !  "  said  Clodius, 
now  entering  with  Lepidus.  "  This  is  my  friend  and 
sworn  brother:  he  must  be  put  under  shelter  of  your 
tongue,  sweet  one ;  it  rains  stones !  " 

"  Give  me  my  slave !  "  shrieked  the  virago,  placing 
her  mighty  grasp  on  the  breast  of  the  Greek. 

"  Not  if  all  your  sister  Furies  could  help  you,"  an- 
swered Glaucus.  "  Fear  not,  sweet  Nydia ;  an  Athenian 
never  forsook  distress !  " 

"  Holla !  "  said  Burbo,  rising  reluctantly,  "  what  tur- 
moil is  all  this  about  a  slave?  Let  go  the  young  gen- 
tleman, wife — let  him  go :  for  his  sake  the  pert  thing 
shall  be  spared  this  once."  So  saying  he  drew,  or 
rather  dragged  off  his  ferocious  helpmate. 

"  Methought  when  we  entered,"  said  Clodius,  "  there 
was  another  man  present  ?  " 

"  He  is  gone." 

For  the  priest  of  Isis  had  indeed  thought  it  high  time 
to  vanish. 

"  Oh,  a  friend  of  mine !  a  brother  cupman,  a  quiet 
dog,  who  does  not  love  these  snarlings,"  said  Burbo 
carelessly.  "  But  go,  child,  you  will  tear  the  gentle- 
man's tunic  if  you  cling  to  him  so  tight ;  go,  you  are 
pardoned." 

"  Oh,  do  not — do  not  forsake  me !  "  cried  Nydia, 
clinging  yet  closer  to  the  Athenian. 

Moved  by  her  forlorn  situation,  her  appeal  to  him, 


130        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

her  own  innumerable  and  touching  graces,  the  Greek 
seated  himself  on  one  of  the  rude  chairs.  He  held  her 
on  his  knees — he  wiped  the  blood  from  her  shoulders 
with  his  long  hair — he  kissed  the  tears  from  her  cheeks 
— he  whispered  to  her  a  thousand  of  those  soothing 
words  with  which  we  calm  the  grief  of  a  child : — and 
so  beautiful  did  he  seem  in  his  gentle  and  consoling 
task,  that  even  the  fierce  heart  of  Stratonice  was 
touched.  His  presence  seemed  to  shed  light  over  that 
base  and  obscene  haunt — young,  beautiful,  glorious,  he 
was  the  emblem  of  all  that  earth  made  most  happy,  com- 
forting one  that  the  earth  had  abandoned ! 

"  Well,  who  could  have  thought  our  blind  Nydia  had 
been  so  honoured !  "  said  the  virago,  wiping  her  heated 
brow. 

Glaucus  looked  up  at  Burbo. 

"  My  good  man,"  said  he,  "  this  is  your  slave ;  she 
sings  well,  she  is  accustomed  to  the  care  of  flowers — I 
wish  to  make  a  present  of  such  a  slave  to  a  lady.  Will 
you  sell  her  to  me  ?  "  As  he  spoke  he  felt  the  whole 
frame  of  the  poor  girl  tremble  with  delight ;  she  started 
up,  she  put  her  dishevelled  hair  from  her  eyes,  she 
looked  around,  as  if,  alas !  she  had  the  power  to  see! 

"  Sell  our  Nydia !  no,  indeed,"  said  Stratonice, 
gruffly. 

Nydia  sank  back  with  a  long  sigh,  and  again  clasped 
the  robe  of  her  protector. 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  Clodius,  imperiously :  "  you  must 
oblige  me.  What,  man!  what,  old  dame!  offend  me 
and  your  trade  is  ruined.  Is  not  Burbo  my  kinsman 
Pansa's  client?  Am  I  not  the  oracle  of  the  amphi- 
theatre and  its  heroes?  If  I  say  the  word,  Break  up 
your  wine- jars — you  sell  no  more.  Glaucus,  the  slave 
is  yours." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         131 

Burbo  scratched  his  huge  head,  in  evident  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  This  girl  is  worth  her  weight  in  gold  to  me." 

"  Name  your  price — I  am  rich,"  said  Glaucus. 

The  ancient  Italians  were  like  the  modern,  there  was 
nothing  they  would  not  sell,  much  less  a  poor  blind 
girl. 

"  I  paid  six  sestertia  for  her,  she  is  worth  twelve 
now,"  muttered  Stratonice. 

"  You  shall  have  twenty ;  come  to  the  magistrates  at 
once,  and  then  to  my  house  for  your  money." 

"  I  would  not  have  sold  the  dear  girl  for  a  hundred 
but  to  oblige  noble  Clodius,"  said  Burbo,  whiningly. 
"  And  you  will  speak  to  Pansa  about  the  place  of  desig- 
nator at  the  amphitheatre,  noble  Clodius?  it  would  just 
suit  me." 

"  Thou  shalt  have  it,"  said  Clodius  ;  adding  in  a  whis- 
per to  Burbo,  "  yon  Greek  can  make  your  fortune ; 
money  runs  through  him  like  a  sieve :  mark  to-day  with 
white  chalk,  my  Priam." 

"  An  dabisf  "  said  Glaucus,  in  the  formal  question  of 
sale  and  barter. 

"  Dabitur,"  answered  Burbo. 

"  Then,  then,  I  am  to  go  with  you — with  you  ?  O 
happiness  !  "  exclaimed  Nydia. 

"  Pretty  one,  yes ;  and  thy  hardest  task  henceforth 
shall  be  to  sing  thy  Grecian  hymns  to  the  loveliest  lady 
in  Pompeii." 

The  girl  sprang  from  his  clasp ;  a  change  came  over 
her  whole  face,  so  bright  the  instant  before ;  she  sighed 
heavily,  and  then  once  more  taking  his  hand,  she  said, — 

"  I  thought  I  was  to  go  to  your  house  ?  " 

"  And  so  thou  shalt  for  the  present ;  come,  we  lose 
time." 


T32        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 
CHAPTER   IV 

"THE  RIVAL  OF  GLAUCUS  PRESSES  ONWARD  IN  THE  RACE. 

lone  was  one  of  those  brilliant  characters  which  but 
once  or  twice  flash  across  our  career.  She  united  in  the 
highest  perfection  the  rarest  of  earthly  gifts— Genius 
and  Beauty.  No  one  ever  possessed  superior  intel- 
lectual qualities  without  knowing  them.  The  allitera- 
tion of  modesty  and  merit  is  pretty  enough,  but  where 
merit  is  great,  the  veil  of  that  modesty  you  admire 
never  disguises  its  extent  from  its  possessor.  It  is  the 
proud  consciousness  of  certain  qualities  that  it  cannot 
reveal  to  the  everyday  world,  that  gives  to  genius  that 
shy,  and  reserved,  and  troubled  air,  which  puzzles  and 
flatters  you  when  you  encounter  it. 

lone,  then,  knew  her  genius ;  but,  with  that  charm- 
ing versatility  that  belongs  of  right  to  women,  she  had 
the  faculty  so  few  of  a  kindred  genius  in  the  less 
malleable  sex  can  claim — the  faculty  to  bend  and  model 
her  graceful  intellect  to  all  whom  it  encountered.  The 
sparkling  fountain  threw  its  waters  alike  upon  the 
strand,  the  cavern,  and  the  flowers ;  it  refreshed,  it 
smiled,  it  dazzled  everywhere.  That  pride  which  is  the 
necessary  result  of  superiority,  she  wore  easily, — in  her 
breast  it  concentred  itself  in  independence.  She  pur- 
sued thus  her  own  bright  and  solitary  path.  She  asked 
no  aged  matron  to  direct  and  guide  her — she  walked 
alone  by  the  torch  of  her  own  unflickering  purity. 
She  obeyed  no  tyrannical  and  absolute  custom.  She 
moulded  custom  to  her  own  will,  but  this  so  delicately 
and  with  so  feminine  a  grace,  so  perfect  an  exemption 
from  error  that  you  could  not  say  she  outraged  cus- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         133 

torn  but  commanded  it.  The  wealth  of  her  graces  was 
inexhaustible — she  beautified  the  commonest  action ;  a 
word,  a  look  from  her,  seemed  magic.  Love  her,  and 
you  entered  into  a  new  world,  you  passed  from  this 
trite  and  commonplace  earth.  You  were  in  a  land  in 
which  your  eyes  saw  everything  through  an  enchanted 
medium.  In  her  presence  you  felt  as  if  listening  to  ex- 
quisite music ;  you  were  steeped  in  that  sentiment 
which  has  so  little  of  earth  in  it,  and  which  music  so 
well  inspires — that  intoxication  which  refines  and  ex- 
alts, which  seizes,  it  is  true,  the  senses,  but  gives  them 
the  character  of  the  soul. 

She  was  peculiarly  formed,  then,  to  command  and 
fascinate  the  less  ordinary  and  the  bolder  natures  of 
men ;  to  love  her  was  to  unite  two  passions,  that  of  love 
and  of  ambition, — you  aspired  when  you  adored  her. 
It  was  no  wonder  that  she  had  completely  chained  and 
subdued  the  mysterious  but  burning  soul  of  the  Egyp- 
tian, a  man  in  whom  dwelt  the  fiercest  passions.  Her 
beauty  and  her  soul  alike  enthralled  him. 

Set  apart  himself  from  the  common  world,  he  loved 
that  daringness  of  character  which  also  made  itself, 
among  common  things,  aloof  and  alone.  He  did  not, 
or  he  would  not,  see  that  that  very  isolation  put  her  yet 
more  from  him  than  from  the  vulgar.  Far  as  the  poles, 
far  as  the  night  from  day,  his  solitude  was  divided 
from  hers.  He  was  solitary  from  his  dark  and  solemn 
vices — she  from  her  beautiful  fancies  and  her  purity  of 
virtue. 

If  it  was  not  strange  that  lone  thus  enthralled  the 
Egyptian,  far  less  strange  was  it  that  she  had  captured, 
as  suddenly  as  irrevocably,  the  bright  and  sunny  heart 
of  the  Athenian.  The  gladness  of  a  temperament 
which  seemed  woven  from  the  beams  of  light  had  led 


134        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Claucus  into  pleasure.  He  obeyed  no  more  vicious  dic- 
tates when  he  wandered  into  the  dissipations  of  his 
time  than  the  exhilarating  voices  of  youth  and  health. 
He  threw  the  brightness  of  his  nature  over  every  abyss 
and  cavern  through  which  he  strayed.  His  imagina- 
tion dazzled  him,  but  his  heart  never  was  corrupted. 
Of  far  more  penetration  than  his  companions  deemed 
he  saw  they  sought  to  prey  upon  his  riches  and  his 
youth :  but  he  despised  wealth  save  as  the  means  of  en- 
joyment, and  youth  was  the  great  sympathy  that  united 
him  to  them.  He  felt,  it  is  true,  the  impulse  of  nobler 
thoughts  and  higher  aims  than  in  pleasure  could  be  in- 
dulged: but  the  world  was  one  vast  prison,  to  which 
the  Sovereign  of  Rome  was  the  Imperial  gaoler ;  and 
the  very  virtues,  which  in  the  free  days  of  Athens 
would  have  made  him  ambitious,  in  the  slavery  of  earth 
made  him  inactive  and  supine.  For  in  that  unnatural 
and  bloated  civilisation,  all  that  was  noble  in  emulation 
was  forbidden.  Ambition  in  the  regions  of  a  despotic 
and  luxurious  court  was  but  the  contest  of  flattery  and 
craft.  Avarice  had  become  the  sole  ambition ;  men  de- 
sired prsetorships  and  provinces  only  as  the  license  to 
pillage,  and  government  was  but  the  excuse  of  rapine. 
It  is  in  small  states  that  glory  is  most  active  and  pure, — 
the  more  confined  the  limits  of  the  circle,  the  more  ar- 
dent the  patriotism.  In  small  states,  opinion  is  con- 
centrated and  strong, — every  eye  reads  your  actions — 
your  public  motives  are  blended  with  your  private 
ties, — every  spot  in  your  narrow  sphere  is  crowded  with 
forms  familiar  since  your  childhood, — the  applause  of 
your  citizens  is  like  the  caresses  of  your  friends.  But 
in  large  states,  the  city  is  but  the  court ;  the  provinces 
— unknown  to  you,  unfamiliar  in  customs,  perhaps  in 
language, — have  no  claim  on  your  patriotism,  the  an- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         135 

cestry  of  their  inhabitants  is  not  yours.  In  the  court 
you  desire  favour  instead  of  glory ;  at  a  distance  from 
the  court,  public  opinion  has  vanished  from  you,  and 
self-interest  has  no  counterpoise. 

Italy,  Italy,  while  I  write,  your  skies  are  over  me — 
your  seas  flow  beneath  my  feet.  Listen  not  to  the  blind 
policy  which  would  unite  all  your  crested  cities,  mourn- 
ing for  their  republics,  into  one  empire;  false,  per- 
nicious delusion !  your  only  hope  of  regeneration  is  in 
division.  Florence,  Milan,  Venice,  Genoa,  may  be  free 
once  more,  if  each  is  free.  But  dream  not  of  freedom 
for  the  whole  while  you  enslave  the  parts;  the  heart 
must  be  the  centre  of  the  system,  the  blood  must  circu- 
late freely  everywhere ;  and  in  vast  communities  you 
behold  but  a  bloated  and  feeble  giant,  whose  brain  is 
imbecile,  whose  limbs  are  dead,  and  who  pays  in  disease 
and  weakness  the  penalty  of  transcending  the  natural 
proportions  of  health  and  vigour. 

Thus  thrown  back  upon  themselves,  the  more  ardent 
qualities  of  Glaucus  found  no  vent,  save  in  that  over- 
flowing imagination  which  gave  grace  to  pleasure,  and 
poetry  to  thought.  Ease  was  less  despicable  than  con- 
tention with  parasites  and  slaves,  and  luxury  could  yet 
be  refined  though  ambition  could  not  be  ennobled. 
But  all  that  was  best  and  brightest  in  his  soul  woke  at 
once  when  he  knew  lone.  Here  was  an  empire  worthy 
of  demigods  to  attain  ;  here  was  a  glory  which  the  reek- 
ing smoke  of  a  foul  society  could  not  soil  or  dim.  Love, 
in  every  time,  in  every  state,  can  thus  find  space  for  its 
golden  altars.  And  tell  me  if  there  ever,  even  in  the 
ages  most  favourable  to  glory,  could  be  a  triumph  more 
exalted  and  elating  than  the  conquest  of  one  noble 
heart  ? 

And  whether  it  was  that  this  sentiment  inspired  him, 


136        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

his  ideas  glowed  more  brightly,  his  soul  seemed  more 
awake  and  more  visible,  in  Tone's  presence.  If  natural 
to  love  her,  it  was  natural  that  she  should  return  the 
passion.  Young,  brilliant,  eloquent,  enamoured,  and 
Athenian,  he  was  to  her  as  the  incarnation  of  the  poetry 
of  her  father's  land.  They  were  not  like  creatures  of 
a  world  in  which  strife  and  sorrow  are  the  elements; 
they  were  like  things  to  be  seen  only  in  the  holiday  of 
nature,  so  glorious  and  so  fresh  were  their  youth,  their 
beauty,  and  their  love.  They  seemed  out  of  place  in  the 
harsh  and  every-day  earth;  they  belonged  of  right  to 
the  Saturnian  age,  and  the  dreams  of  demigod  and 
nymph.  It  was  as  if  the  poetry  of  life  gathered  and 
fed  itself  in  them,  and  in  their  hearts  were  concentrated 
the  last  rays  of  the  sun  of  Delos  and  of  Greece. 

But  if  lone  was  independent  in  her  choice  of  life,  so 
was  her  modest  pride  proportionately  vigilant  and 
easily  alarmed.  The  falsehood  of  the  Egyptian  was 
invented  by  a  deep  knowledge  of  her  nature.  The 
story  of  coarseness,  of  indelicacy,  in  Glaucus,  stung  her 
to  the  quick.  She  felt  it  a  reproach  upon  her  charac- 
ter and  her  career,  a  punishment  above  all  to  her  love ; 
she  felt,  for  the  first  time,  how  suddenly  she  had  yielded 
to  that  love;  she  blushed  with  shame  at  a  weakness, 
the  extent  of  which  she  was  startled  to  perceive:  she 
imagined  it  was  that  weakness  which  had  incurred  the 
contempt  of  Glaucus;  she  endured  the  bitterest  curse 
of  noble  natures — humiliation!  Yet  her  love,  perhaps, 
was  no  less  alarmed  than  her  pride.  If  one  moment 
she  murmured  reproaches  upon  Glaucus — if  one  mo- 
ment she  renounced,  she  almost  hated  him — at  the  next 
she  burst  into  passionate  tears,  her  heart  yielded  to  its 
softness,  and  she  said  in  the  bitterness  of  anguish,  "  He 
despises  me— hp  does  not  love  me." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         137 

From  the  hour  the  Egyptian  had  left  her  she  had  re- 
tired to  her  most  secluded  chamber,  she  had  shut  out 
her  handmaids,  she  had  denied  herself  to  the  crowds 
that  besieged  her  door.  Glaucus  was  excluded  with 
the  rest;  he  wondered,  but  he  guessed  not  why!  He 
never  attributed  to  his  lone — his  queen — his  goddess 
— that  woman-like  caprice  of  which  the  love-poets  of 
Italy  so  unceasingly  complain.  He  imagined  her,  in 
the  majesty  of  her  candour,  above  all  the  arts  that  tor- 
ture. He  was  troubled,  but  his  hopes  were  not  dimmed, 
for  he  knew  already  that  he  loved  and  was  beloved; 
what  more  could  he  desire  as  an  amulet  against  fear? 

At  deepest  night,  then,  when  the  streets  were  hushed, 
and  the  high  moon  only  beheld  his  devotions,  he  stole 
to  that  temple  of  his  heart — her  home ; 1  and  wooed  her 
after  the  beautiful  fashion  of  his  country.  He  covered 
her  threshold  with  the  richest  garlands,  in  which  every 
flower  was  a  volume  of  sweet  passion ;  and  he  charmed 
the  long  summer-night  with  the  sound  of  the  Lycian 
lute;  and  verses  which  the  inspiration  of  the  moment 
sufficed  to  weave. 

But  the  window  above  opened  not ;  no  smile  made 
yet  more  holy  the  shining  air  of  night.  All  was  still 
and  dark.  He  knew  not  if  his  verse  was  welcome  and 
his  suit  was  heard. 

Yet  lone  slept  not,  nor  disdained  to  hear.  Those  soft 
strains  ascended  to  her  chamber;  they  soothed,  they 
subdued  her.  While  she  listened,  she  believed  nothing 
against  her  lover;  but  when  they  were  stilled  at  last, 
and  his  step  departed,  the  spell  ceased ;  and,  in  the  bit- 
terness of  her  soul,  she  almost  conceived  in  that  delicate 
flattery  a  new  affront. 

1  Athenseus — "  The  true  temple  of  Cupid  is  the  house  of  the 
beloved  one." 


133        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

I  said  she  was  denied  to  all ;  but  there  was  one  excep- 
tion ;  there  was  one  person  who  would  not  be  denied, 
assuming-  over  her  actions  and  her  house  something 
like  the  authority  of  a  parent;  Arbaces,  for  himself, 
claimed  an  exemption  from  all  the  ceremonies  observed 
by  others.  He  entered  the  threshold  with  the  license 
of  one  who  feels  that  he  is  privileged  and  at  home.  He 
made  his  way  to  her  solitude,  and  with  that  sort  of 
quiet  and  unapologetic  air  which  seemed  to  consider 
the  right  as  a  thing  of  course.  With  all  the  independ- 
ence of  lone's  character,  his  heart  had  enabled  him  to 
obtain  a  secret  and  powerful  control  over  her  mind. 
She  could  not  shake  it  off ;  sometimes  she  desired  to  do 
so ;  but  she  never  actively  struggled  against  it.  She 
was  fascinated  by  his  serpent  eye.  He  arrested,  he 
commanded  her,  by  the  magic  of  a  mind  long  accus- 
tomed to  awe  and  to  subdue.  Utterly  unaware  of  his 
real  character  or  his  hidden  love,  she  felt  for  him  the 
reverence  which  genius  feels  for  wisdom,  and  virtue 
for  sanctity.  She  regarded  him  as  one  of  those  mighty 
sages  of  old  who  attained  to  the  mysteries  of  knowl- 
edge by  an  exemption  from  the  passions  of  their  kind. 
She  scarcely  considered  him  as  a  being,  like  herself,  of 
the  earth,  but  as  an  oracle  at  once  dark  and  sacred.  She 
did  not  love  him,  but  she  feared.  His  presence  was 
unwelcome  to  her;  it  dimmed  her  spirit  even  in  its 
brightest  mood ;  he  seemed,  with  his  chilling  and  lofty 
aspect,  like  some  eminence  which  casts  a  shadow  over 
the  sun.  But  she  never  thought  of  forbidding  his  visits. 
She  was  passive  under  the  influence  which  created  in 
her  breast,  not  the  repugnance,  but  something  of  the 
stillness  of  terror.  Arbaces  himself  now  resolved  to 
exert  all  his  arts  to  possess  himself  of  that  treasure  he 
so  burningly  coveted.  He  was  cheered  and  elated  by 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         139 

his  conquests  over  her  brother.  From  the  hour  in 
which  Apaecides  fell  beneath  the  voluptuous  sorcery  of 
that  fete  which  we  have  described,  he  felt  his  empire 
over  the  young  priest  triumphant  and  insured.  He 
knew  that  there  is  no  victim  so  thoroughly  subdued  as 
a  young  and  fervent  man  for  the  first  time  delivered  to 
the  thraldom  of  the  senses. 

When  Apaecides  recovered,  with  the  morning  light, 
from  the  profound  sleep  which  succeeded  to  the  de- 
lirium of  wonder  and  of  pleasure,  he  was,  it  is  true, 
ashamed — terrified — appalled.  His  vows  of  austerity 
and  celibacy  echoed  in  his  ear ;  his  thirst  after  holiness 
— had  it  been  quenched  at  so  unhallowed  a  stream? 
But  Arbaces  knew  well  the  means  by  which  to  confirm 
his  conquest.  From  the  arts  of  pleasure  he  led  the 
young  priest  at  once  to  those  of  his  mysterious  wis- 
dom. He  bared  to  his  amazed  eyes  the  initiatory  se- 
crets of  the  sombre  philosophy  of  the  Nile — those 
secrets  plucked  from  the  stars,  and  the  wild  chemistry, 
which,  in  those  days,  when  Reason  herself  was  but  the 
creature  of  Imagination,  might  well  pass  for  the  lore 
of  a  diviner  magic.  He  seemed  to  the  young  eyes  of 
the  priest  as  a  being  above  mortality,  and  endowed 
with  supernatural  gifts.  That  yearning  and  intense  de- 
sire for  the  knowledge  which  is  not  of  earth — which 
had  burned  from  his  boyhood  in  the  heart  of  the  priest 
— was  dazzled,  until  it  confused  and  mastered  his 
clearer  sense.  He  gave  himself  to  the  art  which  thus 
addressed  at  once  the  two  strongest  of  human  passions 
— that  of  pleasure  and  that  of  knowledge.  He  was 
loth  to  believe  that  one  so  wise  could  err,  that  one  so 
lofty  could  stoop  to  deceive.  Entangled  in  the  dark 
web  of  metaphysical  moralities,  he  caught  at  the  ex- 
cuse by  which  the  Egyptian  converted  vice  into  a  vir- 


140        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

tue.  His  pride  was  insensibly  flattered  that  Arbaces 
had  deigned  to  rank  him  with  himself,  to  set  him  apart 
from  the  laws  which  bound  the  vulgar,  to  make  him 
an  august  participator,  both  in  the  mystic  studies  and 
the  magic  fascinations  of  the  Egyptian's  solitude.  The 
pure  and  stern  lessons  of  that  creed  to  which  Olinthus 
had  sought  to  make  him  convert,  were  swept  away  from 
his  memory  by  the  deluge  of  new  passions.  And  the 
Egyptian,  who  was  versed  in  the  articles  of  that  true 
faith,  and  who  soon  learned  from  his  pupil  the  effect 
which  had  been  produced  upon  him  by  its  believers, 
sought,  not  unskilfully,  to  undo  that  effect,  by  a  tone 
of  reasoning  half-sarcastic  and  half-earnest. 

"  This  faith,"  said  he,  "  is  but  a  borrowed  plagiarism 
from  one  of  the  many  allegories  invented  by  our  priests 
of  old.  Observe,"  he  added,  pointing  to  a  hieroglyphi- 
cal  scroll, — "  observe  in  these  ancient  figures  the  origin 
of  the  Christian's  Trinity.  Here  are  also  three  gods — 
the  Deity,  the  Spirit,  and  the  Son.  Observe,  that  the 
epithet  of  the  Son  is  '  Saviour,' — observe,  that  the  sign 
by  which  his  human  qualities  are  denoted  is  the  cross.1 
Note  here,  too,  the  mystic  history  of  Osiris:  how  he 
put  on  death ;  how  he  lay  in  the  grave ;  and  how,  thus 
fulfilling  a  solemn  atonement,  he  rose  again  from  the 
dead!  In  these  stories  we  but  design  to  paint  an  al- 
legory from  the  operations  of  nature  and  the  evo- 
lutions of  the  eternal  heavens.  But  the  allegory 
unknown,  the  types  themselves  have  furnished  to 
credulous  nations  the  materials  of  many  creeds.  They 
have  travelled  to  the  vast  plains  of  India;  they  have 
mixed  themselves  up  in  the  visionary  speculations  of 
the  Greek :  becoming  more  and  more  gross  and  em- 

1  The  believer  will  draw  from  this  vague  coincidence  a  very 
different  corollary  from  that  of  the  Egyptian. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         141 

bodied,  as  they  emerge  farther  from  the  shadows  of 
their  antique  origin,  they  have  assumed  a  human  and 
palpable  form  in  this  novel  faith ;  and  the  believers  of 
Galilee  are  but  the  unconscious  repeaters  of  one  of  the 
superstitions  of  the  Nile." 

This  was  the  last  argument  which  completely  sub- 
dued the  priest.  It  was  necessary  to  him,  as  to  all,  to 
believe  in  something;  and  undivided  and,  at  last,  un- 
reluctant,  he  surrendered  himself  to  that  belief  which 
Arbaces  inculcated,  and  which  all  that  was  human  in 
passion — all  that  was  flattering  in  vanity — all  that  was 
alluring  in  pleasure,  served  to  invite  to,  and  contributed 
to  confirm. 

This  conquest  thus  easily  made,  the  Egyptian  could 
now  give  himself  wholly  up  to  the  pursuit  of  a  far 
dearer  and  mightier  object;  and  he  hailed,  in  his  suc- 
cess with  the  brother,  an  omen  of  his  triumph  over  the 
sister. 

He  had  seen  lone  on  the  day  following  the  revel  we 
have  witnessed ;  and  which  was  also  the  day  after 
he  had  poisoned  her  mind  against  his  rival.  The  next 
day,  and  the  next,  he  saw  her  also:  and  each  time  he 
laid  himself  out  with  consummate  art,  partly  to  con- 
firm her  impression  against  Glaucus,  and  principally 
to  prepare  her  for  the  impressions  he  desired  her  to  re- 
ceive. The  proud  lone  took  care  to  conceal  the  anguish 
she  endured  ;  and  the  pride  of  woman  has  an  hypocrisy 
which  can  deceive  the  most  penetrating,  and  shame  the 
most  astute.  But  Arbaces  was  no  less  cautious  not  to 
recur  to  a  subject  which  he  felt  it  was  most  politic  to 
treat  as  of  the  lightest  importance.  He  knew  that  by 
dwelling  much  upon  the  fault  of  a  rival,  you  only  give 
him  dignity  in  the  eyes  of  your  mistress;  the  wisest 
plan  is,  neither  loudly  to  hate,  nor  bitterly  to  contemn ; 


142        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

the  wisest  plan  is  to  lower  him  by  an  indifference  of 
tone,  as  if  you  could  not  dream  that  he  could  be  loved. 
Your  safety  is  in  concealing  the  wound  to  your  own 
pride,  and  imperceptibly  alarming  that  of  the  umpire, 
whose  voice  is  fate!  Such,  in  all  times,  will  be  the 
policy  of  one  who  knows  the  science  of  the  sex — it  was 
now  the  Egyptian's. 

He  recurred  no  more,  then,  to  the  presumption  of 
Glaucus;  he  mentioned  his  name,  but  not  more  often 
than  that  of  Clodius  or  of  Lepidus.  He  affected  to 
class  them  together  as  things  of  a  low  and  ephemeral 
species ;  as  things  wanting  nothing  of  the  butterfly, 
save  its  innocence  and  its  grace.  Sometimes  he  slightly 
alluded  to  some  invented  debauch,  in  which  he  declared 
them  companions ;  sometimes  he  adverted  to  them  as 
the  antipodes  of  those  lofty  and  spiritual  natures  to 
whose  order  that  of  lone  belonged.  Blinded  alike  by 
the  pride  of  lone,  and,  perhaps,  by  his  own,  he  dreamed 
not  that  she  already  loved;  but  he  dreaded  lest  she 
might  have  formed  for  Glaucus  the  first  fluttering  pre- 
possessions that  lead  to  love.  And,  secretly,  he  ground 
his  teeth  in  rage  and  jealousy,  when  he  reflected  on  the 
youth,  the  fascinations  and  the  brilliancy  of  that  for- 
midable rival  whom  he  pretended  to  undervalue. 

It  was  on  the  fourth  day  from  the  date  of  the  close  of 
the  previous  book  that  Arbaces  and  lone  sat  together. 

"  You  wear  your  veil  at  home,"  said  the  Egyptian ; 
"  that  is  not  fair  to  those  whom  you  honour  with  your 
friendship." 

"  But  to  Arbaces,"  answered  lone,  who,  indeed,  had 
cast  the  veil  over  her  features  to  conceal  eyes  red  with 
weeping, — "  to  Arbaces,  who  looks  only  to  the  mind, 
what  matters  it  that  the  face  is  concealed  ?  " 

"  I  do  look  only  to  the  mind,"  replied  the  Egyptian : 
"  show  me  then  your  face — for  there  I  shall  see  it  1 " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         143 

"  You  grow  gallant  in  the  air  of  Pompeii,"  said  lone, 
with  a  forced  tone  of  gaiety. 

"  Do  you  think,  fair  lone,  that  it  is  only  at  Pompeii 
that  I  have  learned  to  value  you  ?  "  The  Egyptian's 
voice  trembled — he  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  re- 
sumed. 

"  There  is  a  love,  beautiful  Greek,  which  is  not  the 
love  only  of  the  thoughtless  and  the  young — there  is  a 
love  which  sees  not  with  the  eyes,  which  hears  not  with 
the  ears ;  but  in  which  soul  is  enamoured  of  soul.  The 
countryman  of  thy  ancestors,  the  cave-nursed  Plato, 
dreamed  of  such  a  love — his  followers  have  sought  to 
imitate  it;  but  it  is  a  love  that  is  not  for  the  herd  to 
echo — it  is  a  love  that  only  high  and  noble  natures  can 
conceive — it  hath  nothing  in  common  with  the  sym- 
pathies and  ties  of  coarse  affection ; — wrinkles  do  not 
revolt  it — homeliness  of  feature  does  not  deter ;  it  asks 
youth,  it  is  true,  but  it  asks  it  only  in  the  freshness  of 
the  emotions ;  it  asks  beauty,  it  is  true,  but  it  is  the 
beauty  of  the  thought  and  of  the  spirit.  Such  is  the 
love,  O  lone,  which  is  a  worthy  offering  to  thee  from 
the  cold  and  the  austere.  Austere  and  cold  thou  deem- 
est  me — such  is  the  love  that  I  venture  to  lay  upon  thy 
shrine — thou  canst  receive  it  without  a  blush." 

"  And  its  name  is  Friendship !  "  replied  lone ;  her 
answer  was  innocent,  yet  it  sounded  like  the  reproof  of 
one  conscious  of  the  design  of  the  speaker. 

"  Friendship !  "  said  Arbaces,  vehemently.  "  No ; 
that  is  a  word  too  often  profaned  to  apply  to  a  senti- 
ment so  sacred.  Friendship !  it  is  a  tie  that  binds  fools 
and  profligates !  Friendship !  it  is  the  bond  that  unites 
the  frivolous  hearts  of  a  Glaucus  and  a  Clodius! 
Friendship !  no,  that  is  an  affection  of  earth,  of  vulgar 
habits  and  sordid  sympathies ;  the  feeling  of  which  I 


144        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

speak  is  borrowed  from  the  stars  * — it  partakes  of  that 
mystic  and  ineffable  yearning  which  we  feel  when  we 
gaze  on  them — it  burns,  yet  it  purifies, — it  is  the  lamp 
of  naphtha  in  the  alabaster  vase,  glowing  with  fragrant 
odours,  but  shining  only  through  the  purest  vessels. 
No ;  it  is  not  love,  and  it  is  not  friendship,  that  Arbaces 
feels  for  lone.  Give  it  no  name — earth  has  no  name  for 
it — it  is  not  of  earth — why  debase  it  with  earthly 
epithets  and  earthly  associations  ?  " 

Never  before  had  Arbaces  ventured  so  far,  yet  he 
felt  his  ground  step  by  step :  he  knew  that  he  uttered 
a  language  which,  if  at  this  day  of  affected  platonisms 
it  would  speak  unequivocally  to  the  ears  of  beauty,  was 
at  that  time  strange  and  unfamiliar,  to  which  no  pre- 
cise idea  could  be  attached,  from  which  he  could  im- 
perceptibly advance  or  recede  as  occasion  suited,  as 
hope  encouraged  or  fear  deterred.  lone  trembled, 
though  she  knew  not  why;  her  veil  hid  her  features, 
and  masked  an  expression,  which,  if  seen  by  the  Egyp- 
tian, would  have  at  once  damped  and  enraged  him ;  in 
fact,  he  never  was  more  displeasing  to  her — the  har- 
monious modulation  of  the  most  suasive  voice  that  ever 
disguised  unhallowed  thought  fell  discordantly  on  her 
ear.  Her  whole  soul  was  still  filled  with  the  image  of 
Glaucus ;  and  the  accent  of  tenderness  from  another 
only  revolted  and  dismayed;  yet  she  did  not  conceive 
that  any  passion  more  ardent  than  that  platonism 
which  Arbaces  expressed  lurked  beneath  his  words. 
She  thought  that  he,  in  truth,  spoke  only  of  the  affec- 
tion and  sympathy  of  the  soul ;  but  was  it  not  precisely 
that  affection  and  that  sympathy  which  had  made  a 
part  of  those  emotions  she  felt  for  Glaucus ;  and  could 
any  other  footstep  than  his  approach  the  haunted 

adytum  of  her  heart  ? 

1  Plato. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         145 

Anxious  at  once  to  change  the  conversation,  she  re- 
plied, therefore,  with  a  cold  and  indifferent  voice, 
"  Whomsoever  Arbaces  honours  with  the  sentiment  of 
esteem,  it  is  natural  that  his  elevated  wisdom  should 
colour  that  sentiment  with  its  own  hues;  it  is  natural 
that  his  friendship  should  be  purer  than  that  of  others, 
whose  pursuits  and  errors  he  does  not  deign  to  share. 
But  tell  me,  Arbaces,  hast  thou  seen  my  brother  of 
late?  He  has  not  visited  me  for  several  days;  and 
when  I  last  saw  him  his  manner  disturbed  and  alarmed 
me  much.  I  fear  lest  he  was  too  precipitate  in  the  se- 
vere choice  that  he  has  adopted,  and  that  he  repents  an 
irrevocable  step." 

"  Be  cheered,  lone,"  replied  the  Egyptian.  "  It  is 
true,  that  some  little  time  since  he  was  troubled  and 
sad  of  spirit ;  those  doubts  beset  him  which  were  likely 
to  haunt  one  of  that  fervent  temperament,  which  ever 
ebbs  and  flows,  and  vibrates  between  excitement  and 
exhaustion.  But  he,  lone,  he  came  to  me  in  his  anxi- 
eties and  his  distress ;  he  sought  one  who  pitied  and 
loved  him ;  I  have  calmed  his  mind — I  have  removed 
his  doubts — I  have  taken  him  from  the  threshold  of 
Wisdom  into  its  temple ;  and  before  the  majesty  of  the 
goddess  his  soul  is  hushed  and  soothed.  Fear  not,  he 
will  repent  no  more ;  they  who  trust  themselves  to  Ar- 
baces never  repent  but  for  a  moment." 

"  You  rejoice  me,"  answered  lone.  "  My  dear 
brother !  in  his  contentment  I  am  happy." 

The  conversation  then  turned  upon  lighter  subjects ; 
the  Egyptian  exerted  himself  to  please,  he  con- 
descended even  to  entertain ;  the  vast  variety  of  his 
knowledge  enabled  him  to  adorn  and  light  every  sub- 
ject on  which  he  touched ;  and  lone,  forgetting  the  dis- 
pleasing effect  of  his  former  words,  was  carried  away, 


146        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

despite  her  sadness,  by  the  magic  of  his  intellect.  Her 
manner  became  unrestrained  and  her  language  fluent; 
and  Arbaces,  who  had  waited  his  opportunity,  now 
hastened  to  seize  it. 

"  You  have  never  seen,"  said  he,  "  the  interior  of 
my  home ;  it  may  amuse  you  to  do  so :  it  contains  some 
rooms  that  may  explain  to  you  what  you  have  often 
asked  me  to  describe — the  fashion  of  an  Egyptian 
house;  not,  indeed,  that  you  will  perceive  in  the  poor 
and  minute  proportions  of  Roman  architecture  the 
massive  strength,  the  vast  space,  the  gigantic  mag- 
nificence, or  even  the  domestic  construction  of  the  pal- 
aces of  Thebes  and  Memphis ;  but  something  there  is, 
here  and  there,  that  may  serve  to  express  to  you  some 
notion  of  that  antique  civilisation  which  has  humanised 
the  world.  Devote,  then,  to  the  austere  friend  of  your 
youth,  one  of  these  bright  summer  evenings,  and  let 
me  boast  that  my  gloomy  mansion  has  been  honoured 
with  the  presence  of  the  admired  lone." 

Unconscious  of  the  pollutions  of  the  mansion,  of  the 
danger  that  awaited  her,  lone  readily  assented  to  the 
proposal.  The  next  evening  was  fixed  for  the  visit ; 
and  the  Egyptian,  with  a  serene  countenance,  and  a 
heart  beating  with  fierce  and  unholy  joy,  departed. 
Scarce  had  he  gone,  when  another  visitor  claimed  ad- 
mission.  But  now  we  return  to  Glaucus. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  POOR  TORTOISE. — NEW   CHANGES  FOR  NYDIA. 

The  morning  sun  shone  over  the  small  and  odorous 
garden  inclosed  within  the  peristyle  of  the  house  of 
the  Athenian.  He  lay  reclined,  sad  and  listlessly,  on 
the  smooth  grass  which  intersected  the  viridarium ;  and 
a  slight  canopy  stretched  above  broke  the  fierce  rays  of 
the  summer  sun. 

When  that  fairy  mansion  was  first  disinterred  from 
the  earth  they  found  in  the  garden  the  shell  of  a  tor- 
toise that  had  been  its  inmate.1  That  animal,  so 
strange  a  link  in  the  creation,  to  which  Nature  seems 
to  have  denied  all  the  pleasures  of  life,  save  life's  pas- 
sive and  dreamlike  perception,  had  been  the  guest  of 
the  place  for  years  before  Glaucus  purchased  it;  for 
years,  indeed,  which  went  beyond  the  memory  of  man, 
and  to  which  tradition  assigned  an  almost  incredible 
date.  The  house  had  been  built  and  rebuilt — its  pos- 
sessors had  changed  and  fluctuated — generations  had 
flourished  and  decayed — and  still  the  tortoise  dragged 
on  its  slow  and  unsympathising  existence.  In  the 
earthquake,  which  sixteen  years  before  had  overthrown 
many  of  the  public  buildings  of  the  city,  and  scared 
away  the  amazed  inhabitants,  the  house  now  inhabited 
by  Glaucus  had  been  terribly  shattered.  The  posses- 
sors deserted  it  for  many  days;  on  their  return  they 
cleared  away  the  ruins  which  encumbered  the  virida- 
rium, and  found  still  the  tortoise  unharmed  and  uncon- 
scious of  the  surrounding  destruction.  It  seemed  to 

1 1  do  not  know  whether  it  be  still  preserved  (I  hope  so), 
but  the  shell  of  a  tortoise  was  found  in  the  house  appropriated, 
in  this  work,  to  Glaucus. 


148        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

bear  a  charmed  life  in  its  languid  blood  and  imper- 
ceptible motions ;  yet  was  it  not  so  inactive  as  it  seemed : 
it  held  a  regular  and  monotonous  course ;  inch  by  inch 
it  traversed  the  little  orbit  of  its  domain,  taking  months 
to  accomplish  the  whole  gyration.  It  was  a  restless 
voyager,  that  tortoise! — patiently,  and  with  pain,  did 
it  perform  its  self-appointed  journeys,  evincing  no  in- 
terest in  the  things  around  it — a  philosopher  concen- 
trated in  itself.  There  was  something  grand  in  its  sol- 
itary selfishness  ! — the  sun  in  which  it  basked — the 
waters  poured  daily  over  it — the  air  which  it  insensibly 
inhaled,  were  its  sole  and  unfailing  luxuries.  The  mild 
changes  of  the  season  in  that  lovely  clime  affected  it 
not.  It  covered  itself  with  its  shell — as  the  saint  in  his 
piety — as  the  sage  in  his  wisdom — as  the  lover  in  his 
hope. 

It  was  impervious  to  the  shocks  and  mutations  of 
time — it  was  an  emblem  of  time  itself:  slow,  regular, 
perpetual :  unwitting  of  the  passions  that  fret  them- 
selves around — of  the  wear  and  tear  of  mortality.  The 
poor  tortoise!  nothing  less  than  the  bursting  of  vol- 
canoes, the  convulsions  of  the  riven  world,  could  have 
quenched  its  sluggish  spark!  The  inexorable  Death, 
that  spared  not  pomp  or  beauty,  passed  unheedingly  by 
a  thing  to  which  death  could  bring  so  insignificant  a 
change. 

For  this  animal  the  merciful  and  vivid  Greek  felt  all 
the  wonder  and  affection  of  contrast.  He  could  spend 
hours  in  surveying  its  creeping  progress,  in  moralising 
over  its  mechanism.  He  despised  it  in  joy — he  envied 
it  in  sorrow. 

Regarding  it  now  as  he  lay  along  the  sward — its  dull 
mass  moving  while  it  seemed  motionless,  the  Athenian 
murmured  to  himself: — 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         149 

"  The  eagle  dropped  a  stone  from  its  talons,  thinking 
to  break  thy  shell :  the  stone  crushed  the  head  of  a  poet. 
This  is  the  allegory  of  Fate  !  Dull  thing !  Thou  hadst 
a  father  and  a  mother ;  perhaps,  ages  ago,  thou  thyself 
hadst  a  mate.  Did  thy  parents  love,  or  didst  thou? 
Did  thy  slow  blood  circulate  more  gladly  when  thou 
didst  creep  to  the  side  of  thy  wedded  one  ?  Wert  thou 
capable  of  affection  ?  Could  it  distress  thee  if  she  were 
away  from  thy  side  ?  Couldst  thou  feel  when  she  was 
present?  What  would  I  not  give  to  know  the  history 
of  thy  mailed  breast — to  gaze  upon  the  mechanism  of 
thy  faint  desires — to  mark  what  hairbreadth  difference 
separates  thy  sorrow  from  thy  joy!  Yet,  methinks, 
thou  wouldst  know  if  lone  were  present!  Thou 
wouldst  feel  her  coming  like  a  happier  air — like  a  glad- 
der sun.  I  envy  thee  now,  for  thou  knowest  not  that 
she  is  absent ;  and  I — would  I  could  be  like  thee — be- 
tween the  intervals  of  seeing  her !  What  doubt,  what 
presentiment,  haunts  me !  why  will  she  not  admit  me  ? 
Days  have  passed  since  I  heard  her  voice.  For  the  first 
time,  life  grows  flat  to  me.  I  am  as  one  who  is  left 
alone  at  a  banquet,  the  lights  dead,  and  the  flowers 
faded.  Ah!  lone,  couldst  thou  dream  how  I  adore 
thee !  " 

From  these  enamoured  reveries,  Glaucus  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  entrance  of  Nydia.  She  came  with  her 
light,  though  cautious  step,  along  the  marble  tablinum. 
She  passed  the  portico,  and  paused  at  the  flowers  which 
bordered  the  garden.  She  had  her  water-vase  in  her 
hand,  and  she  sprinkled  the  thirsting  plants,  which 
seemed  to  brighten  at  her  approach.  She  bent  to  inhale 
their  odour,  she  touched  them  timidly  and  caressingly. 
She  felt  along  their  stems,  if  any  withered  leaf  or 
creeping  insect  marred  their  beauty.  And  as  she  hov- 


ISO        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

ered  from  flower  to  flowep,  with  her  earnest  and  youth- 
ful countenance  and  graceful  motions,  you  could  not 
have  imagined  a  fitter  handmaid  for  the  goddess  of  the 
garden. 

"  Nydia,  my  child !  "  said  Glaucus. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  paused  at  once — listen- 
ing, blushing,  breathless ;  with  her  lips  parted,  her  face 
upturned  to  catch  the  direction  of  the  sound,  she  laid 
down  the  vase — she  hastened  to  him ;  and  wonderful  it 
was  to  see  how  unerringly  she  threaded  her  dark  way 
through  the  flowers,  and  came  by  the  shortest  path  to 
the  side  of  her  new  lord. 

"  Nydia,"  said  Glaucus,  tenderly  stroking  back  her 
long  and  beautiful  hair,  "  it  is  now  three  days  since 
thou  hast  been  under  the  protection  of  my  household 
gods.  Have  they  smiled  on  thee  ?  Art  thou  happy  ?  " 

"  Ah !  so  happy !  "  sighed  the  slave. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Glaucus,  "  that  thou  hast  re- 
covered somewhat  from  the  hateful  recollections  of  thy 
former  state, — and  now  that  they  have  fitted  thee 
[touching  her  broidered  tunic]  with  garments  more 
meet  for  thy  delicate  shape, — and  now,  sweet  child,  that 
thou  hast  accustomed  thyself  to  a  happiness  which  may 
the  gods  grant  thee  ever!  I  am  about  to  pray  at  thy 
hands  a  boon." 

"  Oh !  what  can  I  do  for  thee  ?  "  said  Nydia,  clasping 
her  hands. 

"  Listen,"  said  Glaucus,  "  and  young  as  thou  art, 
thou  shalt  be  my  confidant.  Hast  thou  ever  heard  the 
name  of  lone?  " 

The  blind  girl  gasped  for  breath,  and  turning  pale 
as  one  of  the  statues  which  shone  upon  them  from  the 
peristyle,  she  answered  with  an  effort,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause, — 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         151 

"  Yes !  I  have  heard  that  she  is  of  Neapolis,  and 
beautiful." 

"  Beautiful !  her  beauty  is  a  thing  to  dazzle  the  day ! 
Neapolis!  nay,  she  is  Greek  by  origin;  Greece  only 
could  furnish  forth  such  shapes.  Nydia,  I  love  her !  " 

"  I  thought  so,"  replied  Nydia,  calmly. 

"  I  love,  and  thou  shalt  tell  her  so.  I  am  about  to 
send  thee  to  her.  Happy  Nydia,  thou  wilt  be  in  her 
chamber — thou  wilt  drink  the  music  of  her  voice — 
thou  wilt  bask  in  the  sunny  air  of  her  presence !  " 

"  What !  what !  wilt  thou  send  me  from  thee  ?  " 

"  Thou  wilt  go  to  lone,"  answered  Glaucus,  in  a  tone 
that  said,  "  What  more  canst  thou  desire  ?  " 

Nydia  burst  into  tears. 

Glaucus,  raising  himself,  drew  her  towards  him  with 
the  soothing  caresses  of  a  brother. 

"  My  child,  my  Nydia,  thou  weepest  in  ignorance  of 
the  happiness  I  bestow  on  thee.  She  is  gentle,  and 
kind,  and  soft  as  the  breeze  of  spring.  She  will  be  a 
sister  to  thy  youth — she  will  appreciate  thy  winning 
talents — she  will  love  thy  simple  graces  as  none  other 
could,  for  they  are  like  her  own.  Weepest  thou  still, 
fond  fool?  I  will  not  force  thee,  sweet.  Wilt  thou  not 
do  for  me  this  kindness  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  J.  can  serve  thee,  command.  See,  I  weep 
no  longer — I  am  calm." 

"  That  is  my  own  Nydia,"  continued  Glaucus,  kiss- 
ing her  hand.  "  Go,  then,  to  her :  if  thou  art  disap- 
pointed in  her  kindness — if  I  have  deceived  thee,  re- 
turn when  thou  wilt.  I  do  not  give  thee  to  another ;  I 
but  lend.  My  home  ever  be  thy  refuge,  sweet  one.  Ah ! 
would  it  could  shelter  all  the  friendless  and  distressed ! 
But  if  my  heart  whispers  truly,  I  shall  claim  thee  again 
soon,  my  child.  My  home  and  lone's  will  become  the 
same,  and  thou  shalt  dwell  with  both." 


152        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

A  shiver  passed  through  the  slight  frame  of  the  blind 
girl,  but  she  wept  no  more — she  was  resigned 

"  Go,  then,  my  Nydia,  to  lone's  house — they  shall 
show  thee  the  way.  Take  her  the  fairest  flowers  thou 
canst  pluck;  the  vase  which  contains  them  I  will  give 
thee:  thou  must  excuse  its  unworthiness.  Thou  shalt 
take,  too,  with  thee  the  lute  that  I  gave  thee  yesterday, 
and  from  which  thou  knowest  so  well  to  awaken  the 
charming  spirit.  Thou  shalt  give  her  also  this  letter, 
in  which,  after  a  hundred  efforts,  I  have  embodied 
something  of  my  thoughts.  Let  thy  ear  catch  every  ac- 
cent, every  modulation  of  her  voice,  and  tell  me,  when 
we  meet  again,  if  its  music  should  flatter  me  or  dis- 
courage. It  is  now,  Nydia,  some  days  since  I  have 
been  admitted  to  lone;  there  is  something  mysterious 
in  this  exclusion.  I  am  distracted  with  doubts  and 
fears ;  learn — for  thou  art  quick,  and  thy  care  for  me 
will  sharpen  tenfold  thy  acuteness — learn  the  cause  of 
this  unkindness :  speak  of  me  as  often  as  thou  canst ;  let 
my  name  come  ever  to  thy  lips ;  insinuate  how  I  love 
rather  than  proclaim  it ;  watch  if  she  sighs  whilst  thou 
speakest;  if  she  answer  thee;  or,  if  she  reproves,  in 
what  accents  she  reproves.  Be  my  friend,  plead  for 
me :  and  ah !  how  vastly  wilt  thou  overpay  the  little  I 
have  done  for  thee !  Thou  comprehendest,  Nydia ;  thou 
art  yet  a  child — have  I  said  more  than  thou  canst  un- 
derstand ?  " 

"  No." 

"  And  thou  wilt  serve  me?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Come  to  me  when  thou  hast  gathered  the  flowers, 
and  I  will  give  the  vase  I  spake  of;  seek  me  in  the 
chamber  of  Leda.  Pretty  one,  thou  dost  not  grieve 
now?" 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         153 

"  Glaucus,  I  am  a  slave ;  what  business  have  I  with 
grief  or  joy?  " 

"  Sayest  thou  so  ?  No,  Nydia,  be  free.  I  give  thee 
freedom ;  enjoy  it  as  thou  wilt,  and  pardon  me  that  I 
reckoned  on  thy  desire  to  serve  me." 

"  You  are  offended.  Oh !  I  would  not,  for  that  which 
no  freedom  can  give,  offend  you,  Glaucus.  My  guard- 
ian, my  saviour,  my  protector,  forgive  the  poor  blind 
girl !  She  does  not  grieve  even  in  leaving  thee,  if  she 
can  contribute  to  thy  happiness." 

"  May  the  gods  bless  this  grateful  heart !  "  said 
Glaucus,  greatly  moved ;  and,  unconscious  of  the  fires 
he  excited,  he  repeatedly  kissed  her  forehead. 

"  Thou  forgivest  me,"  said  she,  "  and  thou  wilt  talk 
no  more  of  freedom ;  my  happiness  is  to  be  thy  slave : 
thou  hast  promised  thou  wilt  not  give  me  to  an- 
other  " 

"  I  have  promised." 

"  And  now,  then,  I  will  gather  the  flowers." 

Silently  Nydia  took  from  the  hand  of  Glaucus  the 
costly  and  jewelled  vase,  in  which  the  flowers  vied  with 
each  other  in  hue  and  fragrance ;  tearlessly  she  received 
his  parting  admonition.  She  paused  for  a  moment 
when  his  voice  ceased — she  did  not  trust  herself  to  re- 
ply— she  sought  his  hand — she  raised  it  to  her  lips, 
dropped  her  veil  over  her  face,  and  passed  at  once  from 
his  presence.  She  paused  again  as  she  reached  the 
threshold  ;  she  stretched  her  hands  towards  it,  and  mur- 
mured,— "  Three  happy  days — days  of  unspeakable  de- 
light, have  I  known  since  I  passed  thee — blessed 
threshold !  may  peace  dwell  ever  with  thee  when  I  am 
gone !  And  now,  my  heart  tears  itself  from  thee,  and 
the  only  sound  it  utters  bids  me — die !  " 


154        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 
CHAPTER  VI 

THE  HAPPY  BEAUTY  AND  THE  BLIND  SLAVE. 

A  slave  entered  the  chamber  of  lone.  A  messenger 
from  Glaucus  desired  to  be  admitted. 

lone  hesitated  an  instant. 

"  She  is  blind,  that  messenger,"  said  the  slave ;  "  she 
will  do  her  commission  to  none  but  thee." 

Base  is  that  heart  which  does  not  respect  affliction ! 
The  moment  she  heard  the  messenger  was  blind,  lone 
felt  the  impossibility  of  returning  a  chilling  reply. 
Glaucus  had  chosen  a  herald  that  was  indeed  sacred — 
a  herald  that  could  not  be  denied. 

"  What  can  he  want  with  me  ?  what  message  can  he 
send  ?  "  and  the  heart  of  lone  beat  quick.  The  curtain 
across  the  door  was  withdrawn ;  a  soft  and  echoless 
step  fell  upon  the  marble ;  and  Nydia,  led  by  one  of  the 
attendants,  entered  with  her  precious  gift. 

She  stood  still  a  moment,  as  if  listening  for  some 
sound  that  might  direct  her. 

"  Will  the  noble  lone,"  said  she,  in  a  soft  and  low 
voice,  "  deign  to  speak,  that  I  may  know  whither  to 
steer  these  benighted  steps,  and  that  I  may  lay  my  of- 
ferings at  her  feet  ?  " 

"  Fair  child,"  said  lone,  touched  and  soothingly, 
"  give  not  thyself  the  pain  to  cross  these  slippery  floors, 
my  attendant  will  bring  to  me  what  thou  hast  to  pre- 
sent ;  "  and  she  motioned  to  the  handmaid  to  take  the 
vase. 

"  I  may  give  these  flowers  to  none  but  thee,"  an- 
swered Nydia;  and,  guided  by  her  ear,  she  walked 
slowly  to  the  place  where  lone  sat,  and  kneeling  when 
she  came  before  her  proffered  the  vase. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        155 

lone  took  it  from  her  hand,  and  placed  it  on  the  table 
at  her  side.  She  then  raised  her  gently,  and  would 
have  seated  her  on  the  couch,  but  the  girl  modestly  re- 
sisted. 

"  I  have  not  yet  discharged  my  office,"  said  she ;  and 
she  drew  the  letter  of  Glaucus  from  her  vest.  "  This 
will,  perhaps,  explain  why  he  who  sent  me  chose  so 
unworthy  a  messenger  to  lone." 

The  Neapolitan  took  the  letter  with  a  hand,  the 
trembling  of  which  Nydia  at  once  felt  and  sighed  to 
feel.  With  folded  arms  and  downcast  looks,  she  stood 
before  the  proud  and  stately  form  of  lone ; — no  less 
proud,  perhaps,  in  her  attitude  of  submission.  lone 
waved  her  hand,  and  the  attendants  withdrew ;  she 
gazed  again  upon  the  form  of  the  young  slave  in  sur- 
prise and  beautiful  compassion;  then,  retiring  a  little 
from  her,  she  opened  and  read  the  following  letter: — 

"  Glaucus  to  lone  sends  more  than  he  dares  to  utter. 
Is  lone  ill  ?  thy  slaves  tell  me  '  No/  and  that  assurance 
comforts  me.  Has  Glaucus  offended  lone  ? — ah  !  that 
question  I  may  not  ask  from  them.  For  five  days  I 
have  been  banished  from  thy  presence.  Has  the  sun 
shone? — I  know  it  not.  Has  the  sky  smiled? — it  has 
had  no  smile  for  me.  My  sun  and  my  sky  are  lone. 
Do  I  offend  thee  ?  Am  I  too  bold  ?  Did  I  say  that  on 
the  tablet  which  my  tongue  has  hesitated  to  breathe? 
Alas !  it  is  in  thine  absence  that  I  feel  most  the  spells 
by  which  thou  hast  subdued  me.  And  absence,  that 
deprives  me  of  joy,  brings  me  courage.  Thou  wilt 
not  see  me;  thou  hast  banished  also  the  common  flat- 
terers that  flock  around  thee.  Canst  thou  confound 
me  with  them  ?  It  is  not  possible !  Thou  knowest  too 
well  that  I  am  not  of  them — that  their  clay  is  not  mine. 


156        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

For  even  were  I  of  the  humblest  mould,  the  fragrance 
of  the  rose  has  penetrated  me,  and  the  spirit  of  thy  na- 
ture hath  passed  within  me,  to  embalm,  to  sanctify, 
to  inspire.  Have  they  slandered  me  to  thee,  lone? 
Thou  wilt  not  believe  them.  Did  the  Delphic  oracle 
itself  tell  me  thou  wert  unworthy,  I  would  not  believe 
it:  and  am  I  less  incredulous  than  thou?  I  think  of 
the  last  time  we  met — of  the  song  which  I  sang  to  thee 
— of  the  look  that  thou  gavest  me  in  return.  Disguise 
it  as  thou  wilt,  lone,  there  is  something  kindred  between 
us,  and  our  eyes  acknowledged  it,  though  our  lips  were 
silent.  Deign  to  see  me,  to  listen  to  me,  and  after  that 
exclude  me  if  thou  wilt.  I  meant  not  so  soon  to  say  I 
loved.  But  those  words  rush  to  my  heart — they  will 
have  way.  Accept,  then,  my  homage  and  my  vows. 
We  met  first  at  the  shrine  of  Pallas ;  shall  we  not  meet 
before  a  softer  and  a  more  ancient  altar  ? 

"  Beautiful !  adored  lone !  If  my  hot  youth  and  my 
Athenian  blood  have  misguided  and  allured  me,  they 
have  but  taught  my  wanderings  to  appreciate  the  res* 
— the  haven  they  have  attained.  I  hang  up  my  drip- 
ping robes  on  the  Sea-god's  shrine.,  I  have  escaped 
shipwreck.  I  have  found  THEE.  lone,  deign  to  see 
me ;  thou  art  gentle  to  strangers,  wilt  thou  be  less  mer- 
ciful to  those  of  thine  own  land?  I  await  thy  reply. 
Accept  the  flowers  which  I  send — their  sweet  breath 
has  a  language  more  eloquent  than  words.  They  take 
from  the  sun  the  odours  they  return — they  are  the  em- 
blem of  the  love  that  receives  and  repays  tenfold — the 
emblem  of  the  heart  that  drunk  thy  rays,  and  owes  to 
thee  the  germ  of  the  treasures  that  it  proffers  to  thy 
smile.  I  send  these  by  one  whom  thou  wilt  receive 
for  her  own  sake,  if  not  for  mine.  She,  like  us,  is  a 
stranger;  her  father's  ashes  lie  under  brighter  skies; 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         157 

but,  less  happy  than  we,  she  is  blind  and  a  slave.  Poor 
Nydia !  I  seek  as  much  as  possible  to  repair  to  her  the 
cruelties  of  Nature  and  of  Fate,  in  asking  permission 
to  place  her  with  thee.  She  is  gentle,  quick,  docile. 
She  is  skilled  in  music  and  the  song ;  and  she  is  a  very 
Chloris  *  to  the  flowers.  She  thinks,  lone,  that  thou 
wilt  love  her :  if  thou  dost  not,  send  her  back  to  me. 

"  One  word  more, — let  me  be  bold,  lone.  Why 
thinkest  thou  so  highly  of  yon  dark  Egyptian  ?  he  hath 
not  about  him  the  air  of  honest  men.  We  Greeks  learn 
mankind  from  our  cradle ;  we  are  not  the  less  pro- 
found, in  that  we  affect  no  sombre  mien  :  our  lips  smile, 
but  our  eyes  are  grave — they  observe — they  note — they 
study.  Arbaces  is  not  one  to  be  credulously  trusted ; 
can  it  be  that  he  hath  wronged  me  to  thee  ?  I  think  it, 
for  I  left  him  with  thee ;  thou  sawest  how  my  presence 
stung  him ;  since  then  thou  hast  not  admitted  me.  Be- 
lieve nothing  that  he  can  say  to  my  disfavour ;  if  thou 
dost,  tell  me  so  at  once ;  for  this  lone  owes  to  Glaucus. 
Farewell !  this  letter  touches  thy  hand  ;  these  characters 
meet  thine  eyes — shall  they  be  more  blessed  than  he 
who  is  their  author  ?  Once  more  farewell !  " 

It  seemed  to  lone,  as  she  read  this  letter,  as  if  a  mist 
had  fallen  from  her  eyes.  What  had  been  the  sup- 
posed offence  of  Glaucus? — that  he  had  not  really 
loved!  And  now,  plainly,  and  in  no  dubious  terms, 
he  confessed  that  love.  From  that  moment  his  power 
was  fully  restored.  At  every  tender  word  in  that  let- 
ter, so  full  of  romantic  and  trustful  passion,  her  heart 
smote  her.  And  had  she  doubted  his  faith,  and  had 
she  believed  another  ?  and  had  she  not,  at  least,  allowed 
to  him  the  culprit's  right  to  know  his  crime  to  plead  in 

1  The  Greek  Flora. 


158        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

his  defence?  The  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks — she 
kissed  the  letter — she  placed  it  in  her  bosom  ;  and,  turn- 
ing to  Nydia,  who  stood  in  the  same  place  and  in  the 
same  posture : — 

"  Wilt  thou  sit,  my  child,"  said  she,  "  while  I  write 
an  answer  to  this  letter  ?  " 

"  You  will  answer  it,  then !  "  said  Nydia,  coldly. 
"  Well,  the  slave  that  accompanied  me  will  take  back 
your  answer." 

"  For  you,"  said  lone,  "  stay  with  me — trust  me, 
your  service  shall  be  light." 

Nydia  bowed  her  head. 

"  What  is  your  name,  fair  girl  ?  " 

"  They  call  me  Nydia." 

"  Your  country  ?  " 

"  The  land  of  Olympus — Thessaly." 

"  Thou  shalt  be  to  me  a  friend,"  said  lone,  caress- 
ingly, "  as  thou  art  already  half  a  countrywoman. 
Meanwhile,  I  beseech  thee,  stand  not  on  these  cold  and 
glassy  marbles. — There!  now  that  thou  art  seated,  I 
can  leave  thee  for  an  instant." 

"  lone  to  Glaucus  greeting. — Come  to  me,  Glaucus," 
wrote  lone, — "  come  to  me  to-morrow.  I  may  have 
been  unjust  to  thee,  but  I  will  tell  thee,  at  least,  the  fault 
that  has  been  imputed  to  thy  charge.  Fear  not  hence- 
forth the  Egyptian — fear  none.  Thou  sayest  thou  hast 
expressed  too  much — alas !  in  these  hasty  words  I  have 
already  done  so.  Farewell !  " 

As  lone  reappeared  with  the  letter,  which  she  did  not 
dare  to  read  after  she  had  written  (ah!  common  rash- 
ness, common  timidity  of  love!) — Nydia  started  from 
her  seat. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         159 

"  You  have  written  to  Glaucus  ?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  And  will  he  thank  the  messenger  who  gives  to 
him  thy  letter  ?  " 

lone  forgot  her  companion  was  blind;  she  blushed 
from  the  brow  to  the  neck,  and  remained  silent. 

"  I  mean  this,"  added  Nydia  in  a  calmer  tone ;  "  the 
lightest  word  of  coldness  from  thee  will  sadden  him — 
the  lightest  kindness  will  rejoice.  If  it  be  the  first,  let 
the  slave  take  back  thine  answer;  if  it  be  the  last,  let 
me — I  will  return  this  evening." 

"  And  why,  Nydia,"  asked  lone,  evasively,  "  wouldst 
thou  be  the  bearer  of  my  letter  ?  " 

"  It  is  so,  then !  "  said  Nydia.  "  Ah !  how  could  it  be 
otherwise ;  who  could  be  unkind  to  Glaucus  ?  " 

"  My  child,"  said  lone,  a  little  more  reservedly  than 
before,  "  thou  speakest  warmly — Glaucus,  then,  is 
amiable  in  thine  eyes  ?  " 

"  Noble  lone !  Glaucus  has  been  that  to  me  which 
neither  fortune  nor  the  gods  have  been — a  friend !  " 

The  sadness,  mingled  with  dignity,  with  which 
Nydia  uttered  these  simple  words  affected  the  beauti- 
ful lone ;  she  bent  down  and  kissed  her.  "  Thou  art 
grateful  and  deservedly  so ;  why  should  I  blush  to  say 
that  Glaucus  is  worthy  of  thy  gratitude?  Go,  my 
Nydia — take  to  him  thyself  this  letter — but  return 
again.  If  I  am  from  home  when  thou  returnest — as 
this  evening,  perhaps,  I  shall  be — thy  chamber  shall 
be  prepared  next  to  my  own.  Nydia,  I  have  no  sister 
— wilt  thou  be  one  to  me  ?  " 

The  Thessalian  kissed  the  hand  of  lone,  and  then 
said,  with  some  embarrassment, — 

"  One  favour,  fair  lone — may  I  dare  to  ask  it  ?  " 

"  Thou  canst  not  ask  what  I  will  not  grant,"  replied 
the  Neapolitan. 


160        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  They  tell  me,"  said  Nydia,  "  that  thou  art  beautiful 
beyond  the  loveliness  of  earth.  Alas!  I  cannot  see 
that  which  gladdens  the  world.  Wilt  thou  suffer  me, 
then,  to  pass  my  hand  over  thy  face? — that  is  my  sole 
criterion  of  beauty,  and  I  usually  guess  aright." 

She  did  not  wait  for  the  answer  of  lone,  but,  as  she 
spoke,  gently  and  slowly  passed  her  hand  over  the 
bending  and  half-averted  features  of  the  Greek — feat- 
ures which  but  one  image  in  the  world  can  yet  de- 
picture and  recall — that  image  is  the  mutilated,  but 
all-wondrous,  statue  in  her  native  city — her  own  Neap- 
olis; — that  Parian  face,  before  which  all  the  beauty 
of  the  Florentine  Venus  is  poor  and  earthly — that  as- 
pect so  full  of  harmony — of  youth — of  genius  of  the 
soul — which  modern  critics  have  supposed  the  repre- 
sentation of  Psyche.1 

Her  touch  lingered  over  the  braided  hair  and  pol- 
ished brow — over  the  downy  and  damask  cheek — over 
the  dimpled  lip — the  swan-like  and  whitish  neck.  "  I 
know  now  that  thou  art  beautiful,"  she  said :  "  and  I 
can  picture  thee  to  my  darkness  henceforth,  and  for 
ever !  " 

When  Nydia  left  her,  lone  sank  into  a  deep  but  de- 
licious reverie.  Glaucus  then  loved  her;  he  owned  it 
— yes,  he  loved  her.  She  drew  forth  again  that  dear 
confession;  she  paused  over  every  word,  she  kissed 
every  line ;  she  did  not  ask  why  he  had  been  maligned, 
she  only  felt  assured  that  he  had  been  so.  She  won- 
dered how  she  had  ever  believed  a  syllable  against 
him ;  she  wondered  how  the  Egyptian  had  been  enabled 
to  exercise  a  power  against  Glaucus;  she  felt  a  chill 

1  The  wonderful  remains  of  the  statue  so  called  in  the  Museo 
Borbonico.  The  face,  for  sentiment  and  for  feature,  is  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  which  ancient  sculpture  has  bequeathed 
to  us. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         161 

creep  over  her  as  she  again  turned  to  his  warning 
against  Arbaces,  and  her  secret  fear  of  that  gloomy  be- 
ing darkened  into  awe.  She  was  awakened  from  these 
thoughts  by  her  maidens,  who  came  to  announce  to  her 
that  the  hour  appointed  to  visit  Arbaces  was  arrived; 
she  started,  she  had  forgotten  the  promise.  Her  first 
impression  was  to  renounce  it;  her  second,  was  to 
laugh  at  her  own  fears  of  her  eldest  surviving  friend. 
She  hastened  to  add  the  usual  ornaments  to  her  dress, 
and,  doubtful  whether  she  should  yet  question  the 
Egyptian  more  closely  with  respect  to  his  accusation 
of  Glaucus,  or  whether  she  should  wait  till,  without 
citing  the  authority,  she  should  insinuate  to  Glaucus  the 
accusation  itself,  she  took  her  way  to  the  gloomy  man- 
sion of  Arbaces. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ZONE    ENTRAPPED. — THE    MOUSE    TRIES    TO    GNAW    THE 

NET. 

"  O  dearest  Nydia !  "  exclaimed  Glaucus  as  he  read 
the  letter  of  lone,  "  whitest-robed  messenger  that  ever 
passed  between  earth  and  heaven — how,  how  shall  I 
thank  thee  ?  " 

"  I  am  rewarded,"  said  the  poor  Thessalian. 

"  To-morrow — to-morrow !  how  shall   I   while  the ; 
hours  till  then  ?  " 

The  enamoured  Greek  would  not  let  Nydia  escape 
him,  though  she  sought  several  times  to  leave  the 
chamber;  he  made  her  recite  to  him  over  and  over 
again  every  syllable  of  the  brief  conversation  that  had 
taken  place  between  her  and  lone;  a  thousand  times, 
forgetting  her  misfortune,  he  questioned  her  of  the 
ii 


162        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

looks,  of  the  countenance  of  his  beloved ;  and  then 
quickly  again  excusing  his  fault,  he  bade  her  recom- 
mence the  whole  recital  which  he  had  thus  interrupted. 
The  hours  thus  painful  to  Nydia  passed  rapidly  and 
delightfully  to  him,  and  the  twilight  had  already  dark- 
ened ere  he  once  more  dismissed  her  to  lone  with  a 
fresh  letter  and  with  new  flowers.  Scarcely  had  she 
gone,  than  Clodius  and  several  of  his  gay  companions 
broke  in  upon  him ;  they  rallied  him  on  his  seclusion 
during  the  whole  day,  and  his  absence  from  his  cus- 
tomary haunts ;  they  invited  him  to  accompany  them  to 
the  various  resorts  in  that  lively  city,  which  night  and 
day  proffered  diversity  to  pleasure.  Then,  as  now,  in 
the  south  (for  no  land,  perhaps,  losing  more  of  great- 
ness has  retained  more  of  custom),  it  was  the  delight 
of  the  Italians  to  assemble  in  the  evening ;  and,  under 
the  porticoes  of  temples,  or  the  shade  of  the  groves 
that  interspersed  the  streets,  listening  to  music  or  the 
recitals  of  some  inventive  tale-teller,  they  hailed  the 
rising  moon  with  libations  of  wine  and  the  melodies  of 
song.  Glaucus  was  too  happy  to  be  unsocial ;  he  longed 
to  cast  off  the  exuberance  of  joy  that  oppressed  him. 
He  willingly  accepted  the  proposal  of  his  comrades, 
and  laughingly  they  sallied  out  together  down  the 
populous  and  glittering  streets. 

In  the  meantime  Nydia  once  more  gained  the  house 
of  lone,  who  had  long  left  it ;  she  inquired  indifferently 
whither  lone  had  gone. 

The  answer  arrested  and  appalled  her. 

"  To  the  house  of  Arbaces — of  the  Egyptian  ?  Im- 
possible !  " 

"  It  is  true,  my  little  one,"  said  the  slave,  who  had  re- 
plied to  her  question.  "  She  has  known  the  Egyptian 
long." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         163 

"  Long !  ye  gods,  yet  Glaucus  loves  her !  "  murmured 
Nydia  to  herself.  "  And  has,"  asked  she  aloud, — "  has 
she  often  visited  him  before  ?  " 

"  Never  till  now,"  answered  the  slave.  "  If  all  the 
rumoured  scandal  of  Pompeii  be  true,  it  would  be  bet- 
ter, perhaps,  if  she  had  not  ventured  there  at  present. 
But  she,  poor  mistress  mine,  hears  nothing  of  that 
which  reaches  us;  the  talk  of  the  vestibulum  reaches 
not  to  the  peristyle."  1 

"  Never  till  now !  "  repeated  Nydia.  "  Art  thou 
sure?" 

"  Sure,  pretty  one :  but  what  is  that  to  thee  or  to  us  ?  " 

Nydia  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then,  putting  down 
the  flowers  with  which  she  had  been  charged,  she  called 
to  the  slave  who  had  accompanied  her,  and  left  the 
house  without  saying  another  word. 

Not  till  she  had  got  half-way  back  to  the  house  of 
Glaucus  did  she  break  silence,  and  even  then  she  only 
murmured  inly : — 

"  She  does  not  dream — she  cannot — of  the  dangers 
into  which  she  has  plunged.  Fool  that  I  am, — shall  I 
save  her  ? — yes,  for  I  love  Glaucus  better  than  myself." 

When  she  arrived  at  the  house  of  the  Athenian,  she 
learnt  that  he  had  gone  out  with  a  party  of  his  friends, 
and  none  knew  whither.  He  probably  would  not  be 
home  before  midnight. 

The  Thessalian  groaned ;  she  sank  upon  a  seat  in  the 
hall,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  as  if  to  collect 
her  thoughts.  "  There  is  no  time  to  be  lost,"  thought 
she,  starting  up.  She  turned  to  the  slave  who  had  ac- 
companied her. 

"  Knowest  thou,"  said  she,  "  if  lone  has  any  relative, 
any  intimate  friend  at  Pompeii  ?  " 
1  Terence. 


164        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Why,  by  Jupiter !  "  answered  the  slave,  "  art  thou 
silly  enough  to  ask  the  question  ?  Every  one  in  Pom- 
peii knows  that  lone  has  a  brother  who,  young  and 
rich,  has  been — under  the  rose  I  speak — so  foolish  as 
to  become  a  priest  of  Isis." 

"  A  priest  of  Isis !    O  Gods !  his  name?  " 

"  Apaecides." 

"  I  know  it  all,"  muttered  Nydia :  "  brother  and  sis- 
ter, then,  aje  to  be  both  victims !  Apsecides !  yes,  that 

was  the  name  I  heard  in  .  Ha!  he  well,  then, 

knows  the  peril  that  surrounds  his  sister;  I  will  go  to 
him." 

She  sprang  up  at  that  thought,  and  taking  the  staff 
which  always  guided  her  steps,  she  hastened  to  the 
neighbouring  shrine  of  Isis.  Till  she  had  been  under 
the  guardianship  of  the  kindly  Greek  that  staff  had 
sufficed  to  conduct  the  poor  blind  girl  from  corner  to 
corner  of  Pompeii.  Every  street,  every  turning  in  the 
more  frequented  parts,  was  familiar  to  her ;  and  as  the 
inhabitants  entertained  a  tender  and  half-superstitious 
veneration  for  those  subject  to  her  infirmity,  the  pas- 
sengers had  always  given  way  to  her  timid  steps.  Poor 
girl,  she  little  dreamed  that  she  should,  ere  very  many 
days  were  passed,  find  her  blindness  her  protection, 
and  a  guide  far  safer  than  the  keenest  eyes ! 

But  since  she  had  been  under  the  roof  of  Glaucus, 
he  had  ordered  a  slave  to  accompany  her  always ;  and 
the  poor  devil  thus  appointed,  who  was  somewhat  of 
the  fattest,  and  who,  after  having  twice  performed  the 
journey  to  Tone's  house,  now  saw  himself  condemned 
to  a  third  excursion  (whither  the  gods  only  knew), 
hastened  after  her,  deploring  his  fate,  and  solemnly  as- 
suring Castor  and  Pollux  that  he  believed  the  blind 
girl  had  the  talaria  of  Mercury  as  well  as  the  infirmity 
of  Cupid. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         165 

Nydia,  however,  required  but  little  of  his  assistance 
to  find  her  way  to  the  popular  temple  of  Isis:  the 
space  before  it  was  now  deserted,  and  she  won  with- 
out obstacle  to  the  sacred  rails. 

"  There  is  no  one  here,"  said  the  fat  slave.  "  What 
dost  thou  want,  or  whom  ?  Knowest  thou  not  that  the 
priests  do  not  live  in  the  temple  ?  " 

"  Call  out,"  said  she,  impatiently ;  "  night  and  day 
there  is  always  one  flamen,  at  least,  watching  in  the 
shrines  of  Isis." 

The  slave  called, — no  one  appeared. 

"  Seest  thou  no  one  ?  " 

"  No  one." 

"  Thou  mistakest ;  I  hear  a  sigh :  look  again." 

The  slave,  wondering  and  grumbling,  cast  round 
his  heavy  eyes,  and  before  one  of  the  altars,  whose  re- 
mains still  crowd  the  narrow  space,  he  beheld  a  form 
bending  as  in  meditation. 

"  I  see  a  figure,"  said  he ;  "  and  by  the  white  gar- 
ments it  is  a  priest." 

"  O  flamen  of  Isis !  "  cried  Nydia ;  "  servant  of  the 
Most  Ancient,  hear  me !  " 

"  Who  calls  ?  "  said  a  low  and  melancholy  voice. 

"  One  who  has  no  common  tidings  to  impart  to  a 
member  of  your  body :  I  come  to  declare  and  not  to  ask 
oracles." 

"  With  whom  wouldst  thou  confer  ?  This  is  no  hour 
for  thy  conference ;  depart,  disturb  me  not ;  the  night  is 
sacred  to  the  gods,  the  day  to  men."  ' 

"  Methinks  I  know  thy  voice ;  thou  art  he  whom  I 
seek ;  yet  I  have  heard  thee  speak  but  once  before.  Art 
thou  not  the  priest  Apaecides  ?  " 

"  I  am  that  man,"  replied  the  priest,  emerging  from 
the  altar,  and  approaching  the  rail. 


166        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Thou  art !  the  gods  be  praised !  "  Waving  her 
hand  to  the  slave,  she  bade  him  withdraw  to  a  distance ; 
and  he,  who  naturally  imagined  some  superstition  con- 
nected, perhaps,  with  the  safety  of  lone,  could  alone 
lead  her  to  the  temple,  obeyed,  and  seated  himself  on 
the  ground  at  a  little  distance.  "  Hush !  "  said  she, 
speaking  quick  and  low  ;  "  art  thou  indeed  Apsecides  ?  " 

"If  thou  knowest  me,  canst  thou  not  recall  my 
features  ?  " 

"  I  am  blind,"  answered  Nydia ;  "  my  eyes  are  in 
my  ear,  and  that  recognises  thee:  yet  swear  that  thou 
art  he." 

"  By  the  gods  I  swear  it,  by  my  right  hand,  and  by 
the  moon !  " 

"  Hush !  speak  low — bend  near — give  me  thy  hand : 
knowest  thou  Arbaces  ?  Hast  thou  laid  flowers  at  the 
feet  of  the  dead  ?  Ah  !  thy  hand  is  cold — hark  yet ! — 
hast  thou  taken  the  awful  vow  ?  " 

"  Who  art  thou,  whence  comest  thou,  pale  maiden  ?  " 
said  Apaecides,  fearfully :  "  I  know  thee  not ;  thine  is 
not  the  breast  on  which  this  head  hath  lain;  I  have 
never  seen  thee  before." 

"  But  thou  hast  heard  my  voice :  no  matter,  those 
recollections  it  should  shame  us  both  to  recall.  Listen, 
thou  hast  a  sister." 

"  Speak !  speak !  what  of  her  ?  " 

"  Thou  knowest  the  banquets  of  the  dead,  stranger, 
— it  pleases  thee,  perhaps,  to  share  them — would  it 
please  thee  to  have  thy  sister  a  partaker?  Would  it 
please  thee  that  Arbaces  was  her  host  ?  " 

"  O  gods,  he  dare  not !  Girl,  if  thou  mockest  me, 
tremble !  I  will  tear  thee  limb  from  limb !  " 

"  I  speak  the  truth ;  and  while  I  speak,  lone  is  in  the 
halls  of  Arbaces — for  the  first  time  his  guest.  Thou 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         167 

knowest  if  there  be  peril  in  that  first  time !  Farewell ! 
I  have  fulfilled  my  charge." 

"  Stay !  stay  !  "  cried  the  priest,  passing  his  wan  hand 
over  his  brow.  "If  this  be  true,  what — what  can  be 
done  to  save  her?  They  may  not  admit  me.  I  know 
not  all  the  mazes  of  that  intricate  mansion.  O  Nemesis ! 
justly  am  I  punished !  " 

"  I  will  dismiss  yon  slave,  be  thou  my  guide  and 
comrade;  I  will  lead  thee  to  the  private  door  of  the 
house:  I  will  whisper  to  thee  the  word  which  admits. 
Take  some  weapon :  it  may  be  needful." 

"  Wait  an  instant,"  said  Apaecides,  retiring  into  one 
of  the  cells  that  flank  the  temple,  and  reappearing  in  a 
few  moments  wrapped  in  a  large  cloak,  which  was  then 
much  worn  by  all  classes,  and  which  concealed  his 
sacred  dress.  "  Now,"  he  said,  grinding  his  teeth,  "  if 
Arbaces  hath  dared  to — but  he  dare  not !  he  dare  not ! 
Why  should  I  suspect  him?  Is  he  so  base  a  villain? 
I  will  not  think  it — yet  sophist !  dark  bewilderer  that  he 
is!  O  gods,  protect — hush!  are  there  gods?  Yes, 
there  is  one  goddess,  at  least,  whose  voice  I  can  com- 
mand ;  and  that  is — Vengeance !  " 

Muttering  these  disconnected  thoughts,  Apsecides, 
followed  by  his  silent  and  sightless  companion,  has- 
tened through  the  most  solitary  paths  to  the  house  of 
the  Egyptian. 

The  slave,  abruptly  dismissed  by  Nydia,  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  muttered  an  adjuration,  and,  nothing 
loth,  rolled  off  to  his  cubiculum. 


1 68        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    SOLITUDE    AND    SOLILOQUY    OF    THE    EGYPTIAN. — 
HIS    CHARACTER   ANALYSED. 

We  must  go  back  a  few  hours  in  the  progress  of  our 
story.  At  the  first  grey  dawn  of  the  day,  which  Glau- 
cus  had  already  marked  with  white,  the  Egyptian  was 
seated,  sleepless  and  alone,  on  the  summit  of  the  lofty 
pyramidal  tower  which  flanked  his  house.  A  tall  para- 
pet around  it  served  as  a  wall,  and  conspired,  with  the 
height  of  the  edifice  and  the  gloomy  trees  that  girded 
the  mansion,  to  defy  the  prying  eyes  of  curiosity  or  ob- 
servation. A  table,  on  which  lay  a  scroll,  filled  with 
mystic  figures,  was  before  him.  On  high,  the  stars 
waxed  dim  and  faint,  and  the  shades  of  night  melted 
from  the  sterile  mountain-tops;  only  above  Vesuvius 
there  rested  a  deep  and  massy  cloud,  which  for  several 
days  past  had  gathered  darker  and  more  solid  over  its 
summit.  The  struggle  of  night  and  day  was  more  vis- 
ible over  the  broad  ocean,  which  stretched  calm,  like 
a  gigantic  lake,  bounded  by  the  circling  shores  that, 
covered  with  vines  and  foliage,  and  gleaming  here  and 
there  with  the  white  walls  of  sleeping  cities,  sloped  to 
the  scarce  rippling  waves. 

It  was  the  hour  above  all  others  most  sacred  to  the 
daring  science  of  the  Egyptian — the  science  which 
would  read  our  changeful  destinies  in  the  stars. 

He  had  filled  his  scroll,  he  had  noted  the  moment  and 
the  sign;  and,  leaning  upon  his  hand,  he  had  surren- 
dered himself  to  the  thoughts  which  his  calculation  ex- 
cited. 

"  Again  do  the  stars  forewarn  me !     Some  danger, 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         169 

then,  assuredly  awaits  me !  "  said  he,  slowly ;  "  some 
danger,  violent  and  sudden  in  its  nature.  The  stars 
wear  for  me  the  same  mocking  menace  which,  if  our 
chronicles  do  not  err,  they  once  wore  for  Pyrrhus — 
for  him,  doomed  to  strive  for  all  things,  to  enjoy  none 
— all  attacking,  nothing  gaining — battles  without  fruit, 
laurels  without  triumph,  fame  without  success ;  at  last 
made  craven  by  his  own  superstitions,  and  slain  like 
a  dog  by  a  tile  from  the  hand  of  an  old  woman  !  Verily 
the  stars  flatter  when  they  give  me  a  type  in  this  fool 
of  war, — when  they  promise  to  the  ardour  of  my  wis- 
dom the  same  results  as  to  the  madness  of  his  ambi- 
tion ; — perpetual  exercise — no  certain  goal ! — the  Sisy~ 
phus  task,  the  mountain  and  the  stone! — the  stone,  a 
gloomy  image! — it  reminds  me  that  I  am  threatened 
with  somewhat  of  the  same  death  as  the  Epirote.  Let 
me  look  again.  '  Beware,'  say  the  shining  prophets, 
'  how  thou  passest  under  ancient  roofs,  or  besieged 
walls,  or  overhanging  cliffs — a  stone,  hurled  from 
above,  is  charged  by  the  curses  of  destiny  against 
thee ! '  And,  at  no  distant  date  from  this,  comes  the 
peril:  but  I  cannot,  of  a  certainty,  read  the  day  and 
hour.  Well!  if  my  glass  runs  low,  the  sands  shall 
sparkle  to  the  last.  Yet,  if  I  escape  this  peril — ay,  if 
I  escape — bright  and  clear  as  the  moonlight  track 
along  the  waters  glows  the  rest  of  my  existence.  I  see 
honours,  happiness,  success,  shining  upon  every  billow 
of  the  dark  gulf  beneath  which  I  must  sink  at  last. 
What,  then,  with  such  destinies  beyond  the  peril,  shall 
I  succumb  to  the  peril?  My  soul  whispers  hope,  it 
sweeps  exultingly  beyond  the  boding  hour,  it  revels 
in  the  future, — its  own  courage  is  its  fittest  omen.  If 
I  were  to  perish  so  suddenly  and  so  soon,  the  shadow 
of  death  would  darken  over  me,  and  I  should  feel  the 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

icy  presentiment  of  my  doom.  My  soul  would  ex- 
press, in  sadness  and  in  gloom,  its  forecast  of  the 
dreary  Orcus.  But  it  smiles — it  assures  me  of  de- 
liverance." 

As  he  thus  concluded  his  soliloquy,  the  Egyptian 
involuntarily  rose.  He  paced  rapidly  the  narrow 
space  of  that  star-roofed  floor,  and,  pausing  at  the 
parapet,  looked  again  upon  the  grey  and  melancholy 
heavens.  The  chills  of  the  faint  dawn  came  refresh- 
ingly upon  his  brow,  and  gradually  his  mind  resumed 
its  natural  and  collected  calm.  He  withdrew  his  gaze 
from  the  stars,  as,  one  after  one,  they  receded  into 
the  depths  of  heaven ;  and  his  eyes  fell  over  the  broad 
expanse  below.  Dim  in  the  silenced  port  of  the  city 
rose  the  masts  of  the  galleys;  along  that  mart  of 
luxury  and  of  labour  was  stilled  the  mighty  hum.  No 
lights,  save  here  and  there  from  before  the  columns 
of  a  temple,  or  in  the  porticoes  of  the  voiceless  forum, 
broke  the  wan  and  fluctuating  light  of  the  struggling 
morn.  From  the  heart  of  the  torpid  city,  so  soon  to 
vibrate  with  a  thousand  passions,  there  came  no 
sound:  the  streams  of  life  circulated  not;  they  lay 
locked  under  the  ice  of  sleep.  From  the  huge  space 
of  the  amphitheatre,  with  its  stony  seats  rising  one 
above  the  other — coiled  and  round  as  some  slumber- 
ing monster — rose  a  thin  and  ghastly  mist,  which 
gathered  darker,  and  more  dark,  over  the  scattered 
foliage  that  gloomed  in  its  vicinity.  The  city  seemed 
as,  after  the  awful  change  of  seventeen  ages,  it  seems 
now  to  the  traveller, — a  City  of  the  Dead.1 

The  ocean  itself — that  serene  and  tideless  sea — lay 

1  When  Sir  Walter  Scott  visited  Pompeii  with  Sir  William 
Cell,  almost  his  only  remark  was  the  exclamation,  "  The  City 
of  the  Dead— the  City  of  the  Dead !  " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         171 

scarce  less  hushed,  save  that  from  its  deep  bosom 
came,  softened  by  the  distance,  a  faint  and  regular 
murmur,  like  the  breathing  of  its  sleep ;  and  curving 
far,  as  with  outstretched  arms,  into  the  green  and 
beautiful  land,  it  seemed  unconsciously  to  clasp  to 
its  breast  the  cities  sloping  to  its  margin — Stabiae,1 
and  Herculaneum,  and  Pompeii — those  children  and 
darlings  of  the  deep.  "  Ye  slumber,"  said  the  Egyp- 
tian, as  he  scowled  over  the  cities,  the  boast  and 
flower  of  Campania ;  "  ye  slumber ! — would  it  were 
the  eternal  repose  of  death !  As  ye  now — jewels  in 
the  crown  of  empire — so  once  were  the  cities  of  the 
Nile !  Their  greatness  hath  perished  from  them,  they 
sleep  amidst  ruins,  their  palaces  and  their  shrines  are 
tombs,  the  serpent  coils  in  the  grass  of  their  streets, 
the  lizard  basks  in  their  solitary  halls.  By  that  mys- 
terious law  of  nature,  which  humbles  one  to  exalt 
the  other,  ye  have  thriven  upon  their  ruins ;  thou, 
haughty  Rome,  hast  usurped  the  glories  of  Sesostris 
and  Semiramis — thou  art  a  robber,  clothing  thyself 
with  their  spoils !  And  these — slaves  in  thy  triumph 
— that  I  (the  last  son  of  forgotten  monarchs)  survey 
below,  reservoirs  of  thine  all-pervading  power  and 
luxury,  I  curse  as  I  behold:  The  time  shall  come 
when  Egypt  shall  be  avenged!  when  the  barbarian's 
steed  shall  make  his  manger  in  the  Golden  House  of 
Nero !  and  thou  that  hast  sown  the  wind  with  con- 
quest shall  reap  the  harvest  in  the  whirlwind  of  deso- 
lation !  " 

As  the  Egyptian  uttered  a  prediction  which  fate  so 
fearfully  fulfilled,  a  more  solemn  and  boding  jmage 
of  ill  omen  never  occurred  to  the  dreams  of  painter 

1  Stabise  was  indeed  no  longer  a  city,  but  it  was  still  a 
favourite  site  for  the  villas  of  the  rich. 


172        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

or  of  poet.  The  morning  light  which  can  pale  so 
wanly  even  the  young  cheek  of  beauty,  gave  his  ma- 
jestic and  stately  features  almost  the  colours  of  the 
grave,  with  the  dark  hair  falling  massively  around 
them,  and  the  dark  robes  flowing  long  and  loose,  and 
the  arm  outstretched  from  that  lofty  eminence,  and 
the  glittering  eyes,  fierce  with  a  savage  gladness, — 
half  prophet  and  half  fiend ! 

He  turned  his  gaze  from  the  city  and  the  ocean; 
before  him  lay  the  vineyards  and  the  meadows  of  the 
rich  Campania.  The  gate  and  walls — ancient,  half 
Pelasgic — of  the  city,  seemed  not  to  bound  its  extent. 
Villas  and  villages  stretched  on  every  side  up  the  as- 
cent of  Vesuvius,  not  nearly  then  so  steep  or  so  lofty 
as  at  present.  For  as  Rome  itself  is  built  on  an  ex- 
hausted volcano,  so  in  similar  security  the  inhabitants 
of  the  South  tenanted  the  green  and  vine-clad  places 
around  a  volcano  whose  fires  they  believed  at  rest 
for  ever.  From  the  gate  stretched  the  long  street  of 
tombs,  various  in  size  and  architecture,  by  which,  on 
that  side,  the  city  is  yet  approached.  Above  all,  rose 
the  cloud-capped  summit  of  the  Dread  Mountain, 
with  the  shadows,  now  dark,  now  light,  betraying  the 
mossy  caverns  and  ashy  rocks,  which  testified  the 
past  conflagrations,  and  might  have  prophesied — but 
man  is  blind — that  which  was  to  come ! 

Difficult  was  it  then  and  there  to  guess  the  causes 
why  the  tradition  of  the  place  wore  so  gloomy  and 
stern  a  hue ;  why,  in  those  smiling  plains,  for  miles 
around — to  Baiae  and  Misenum — the  poets  had 
imagined  the  entrance  and  thresholds  of  their  hell — 
their  Acheron,  and  their  fabled  Styx:  why,  in  those 
Phlegrae,1  now  laughing  with  the  vine,  they  placed 

1  Or,  Phlegrai  Campi,  viz.,  scorched  or  burned  fields. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         173 

the  battles  of  the  gods,  and  supposed  the  daring 
Titans  to  have  sought  the  victory  of  heaven — save, 
indeed,  that  yet,  in  yon  seared  and  blasted  summit, 
fancy  might  think  to  read  the  characters  of  the  Olym- 
pian thunderbolt. 

But  it  was  neither  the  rugged  height  of  the  still 
volcano,  nor  the  fertility  of  the  sloping  fields,  nor  the 
melancholy  avenue  of  tombs,  nor  the  glittering  villas 
of  a  polished  and  luxurious  people,  that  now  arrested 
the  eye  of  the  Egyptian.  On  one  part  of  the  land- 
scape, the  mountain  of  Vesuvius  descended  to  the 
plain  in  a  narrow  and  uncultivated  ridge,  broken  here 
and  there  by  jagged  crags  and  copses  of  wild  foliage. 
At  the  base  of  this  lay  a  marshy  and  unwholesome 
pool ;  and  the  intent  gaze  of  Arbaces  caught  the  out- 
line of  some  living  form  moving  by  the  marshes,  and 
stooping  ever  and  anon  as  if  to  pluck  its  rank  produce. 

"  Ho !  "  said  he,  aloud,  "  I  have,  then,  another  com- 
panion in  these  unworldly  night-watches.  The  witch 
of  Vesuvius  is  abroad.  What !  doth  she,  too,  as  the 
credulous  imagine, — doth  she,  too,  learn  the  lore  of 
the  great  stars  ?  Hath  she  been  uttering  foul  magic 
to  the  moon,  or  culling  (as  her  pauses  betoken)  foul 
herbs  from  the  venomous  marsh?  Well,  I  must  see 
this  fellow-labourer.  Whoever  strives  to  know 
learns  that  no  human  lore  is  despicable.  Despicable 
only  you — ye  fat  and  bloated  things — slaves  of  luxury 
— sluggards  in  thought — who,  cultivating  nothing 
but  the  barren  sense,  dream  that  its  poor  soul  can 
produce  alike  the  myrtle  and  the  laurel.  No,  the  wise 
only  can  enjoy — to  us  only  true  luxury  is  given,  when 
mind,  brain,  invention,  experience,  thought,  learning, 
imagination,  all  contribute  like  rivers  to  swell  the  seas 
of  SENSE  ! — lone !  " 


174        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

As  Arbaces  uttered  that  last  and  charmed  word,  his 
thoughts  sank  at  once  into  a  more  deep  and  profound 
channel.  His  steps  paused;  he  took  not  his  eyes 
from  the  ground;  once  or  twice  he  smiled  joyously, 
and  then,  as  he  turned  from  his  place  of  vigil,  and 
sought  his  couch,  he  muttered,  "  If  death  frowns  so 
near,  I  will  say  at  least  that  I  have  lived — lone  shall 
be  mine ! " 

The  character  of  Arbaces  was  one  of  those  intricate 
and  varied  webs,  in  which  even  the  mind  that  sat  with- 
in it  was  sometimes  confused  and  perplexed.  In  him, 
the  son  of  a  fallen  dynasty,  the  outcast  of  a  sunken 
people,  was  that  spirit  of  discontented  pride,  which 
ever  rankles  in  one  of  a  sterner  mould,  who  feels  him- 
self inexorably  shut  from  the  sphere  in  which  his 
fathers  shone,  and  to  which  nature  as  well  as  birth  no 
less  entitles  himself.  This  sentiment  hath  no  benev- 
olence ;  it  wars  with  society,  it  sees  enemies  in  man- 
kind. But  with  this  sentiment  did  not  go  its  com- 
mon companion,  poverty.  Arbaces  possessed  wealth 
which  equalled  that  of  most  of  the  Roman  nobles ; 
and  this  enabled  him  to  gratify  to  the  utmost  the  pas- 
sions which  had  no  outlet  in  business  or  ambition. 
Travelling  from  clime  to  clime,  and  beholding  still 
Rome  everywhere,  he  increased  both  his  hatred  of 
society  and  his  passion  for  pleasure.  He  was  in  a 
vast  prison,  which,  however,  he  could  fill  with  the 
ministers  of  luxury.  He  could  not  escape  from  the 
prison,  and  his  only  object,  therefore,  was  to  give  it 
the  character  of  the  palace.  The  Egyptians,  from 
the  earliest  time,  were  devoted  to  the  joys  of  sense ; 
Arbaces  inherited  both  their  appetite  for  sensuality 
and  the  glow  of  imagination  which  struck  light  from 
its  rottenness.  But  still,  unsocial  in  his  pleasures  as 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        175 

in  his  graver  pursuits,  and  brooking  neither  superior 
nor  equal,  he  admitted  few  to  his  companionship,  save 
the  willing  slaves  of  his  profligacy.  He  was  the  soli- 
tary lord  of  a  crowded  harem;  but,  with  all,  he  felt 
condemned  to  that  satiety  which  is  the  constant  curse 
of  men  whose  intellect  is  above  their  pursuits,  and 
that  which  once  had  been  the  impulse  of  passion  froze 
down  to  the  ordinance  of  custom.  From  the  disap- 
pointments of  sense  he  sought  to  raise  himself  by  the 
cultivation  of  knowledge ;  but  as  it  was  not  his  object 
to  serve  mankind,  so  he  despised  that  knowledge 
which  is  practical  and  useful.  His  dark  imagination 
loved  to  exercise  itself  in  those  more  visionary  and 
obscure  researches  which  are  ever  the  most  delight- 
ful to  a  wayward  and  solitary  mind,  and  to  which  he 
himself  was  invited  by  the  daring  pride  of  his  disposi- 
tion and  the  mysterious  traditions  of  his  clime.  Dis- 
missing faith  in  the  confused  creeds  of  the  heathen 
world,  he  reposed  the  greatest  faith  in  the  power  of 
human  wisdom.  He  did  not  know  (perhaps  no  one 
in  that  age  distinctly  did)  the  limits  which  Nature 
imposes  upon  our  discoveries.  Seeing  that  the  high- 
er we  mount  in  knowledge  the  more  wonders  we  be- 
hold, he  imagined  that  Nature  not  only  worked  mira- 
cles in  her  ordinary  course,  but  that  she  might,  by  the 
cabala  of  some  master  soul,  be  diverted  from  that 
course  itself.  Thus  he  pursued  science,  across  her 
appointed  boundaries,  into  the  land  of  perplexity  and 
shadow.  From  the  truths  of  astronomy  he  wandered 
into  astrological  fallacy;  from  the  secrets  of  chem- 
istry he  passed  into  the  spectral  labyrinth  of  magic ; 
and  he  who  could  be  sceptical  as  to  the  power  of  the 
gods,  was  credulously  superstitious  as  to  the  power 
of  man. 


176        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  cultivation  of  magic,  carried  at  that  day  to  a 
singular  height  among  the  would-be  wise,  was  espe- 
cially Eastern  in  its  origin;  it  was  alien  to  the  early 
philosophy  of  the  Greeks ;  nor  had  it  been  received 
by  them  with  favour  until  Ostanes,  who  accompanied 
the  army  of  Xerxes,  introduced,  amongst  the  simple 
credulities  of  Hellas,  the  solemn  superstitions  of 
Zoroaster.  Under  the  Roman  emperors  it  had  be- 
come, however,  naturalised  at  Rome  (a  meet  subject 
for  Juvenal's  fiery  wit).  Intimately  connected  with 
magic  was  the  worship  of  Isis,  and  the  Egyptian  re- 
ligion was  the  means  by  which  was  extended  the 
devotion  to  Egyptian  sorcery.  The  theurgic,  or 
benevolent  magic — the  goetic,  or  dark  and  evil  necro- 
mancy— were  alike  in  pre-eminent  repute  during 
the  first  century  of  the  Christian  era ;  and  the  marvels 
of  Faustus  are  not  comparable  to  those  of  Apol- 
lonius.1  Kings,  courtiers,  and  sages,  all  trembled  be- 
fore the  professors  of  the  dread  science.  And  not 
the  least  remarkable  of  his  tribe  was  the  formidable 
and  profound  Arbaces.  His  fame  and  his  discoveries 
were  known  to  all  the  cultivators  of  magic ;  they  even 
survived  himself.  But  it  was  not  by  his  real  name 
that  he  was  honoured  by  the  sorcerer  and  the  sage: 
his  real  name,  indeed,  was  unknown  in  Italy,  for  "  Ar- 
baces "  was  not  a  genuinely  Egyptian  but  a  Median 
appellation,  which,  in  the  admixture  and  unsettlement 
of  the  ancient  races,  had  become  common  in  the  coun- 
try of  the  Nile ;  and  there  were  various  reasons,  not 
only  of  pride,  but  of  policy  (for  in  youth  he  had  con- 
spired against  the  majesty  of  Rome),  which  induced 
him  to  conceal  his  true  name  and  rank.  But  neither 
by  the  name  he  had  borrowed  from  the  Mede,  nor  by 

1  See  note  (a)  at  the  end. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         177 

that  which  in  the  colleges  of  Egypt  would  have  at- 
tested his  origin  from  kings,  did  the  cultivators  of 
magic  acknowledge  the  potent  master.  He  received 
from  their  homage  a  more  mystic  appellation,  and 
was  long  remembered  in  Magna  Graecia  and  the  East- 
ern plains  by  the  name  of  "  Hermes,  the  Lord  of  the 
Flaming  Belt."  His  subtle  speculations  and  boasted 
attributes  of  wisdom,  recorded  in  various  volumes, 
were  among  those  tokens  "  of  the  curious  arts  "  which 
the  Christian  converts  most  joyfully,  yet  most  fear- 
fully, burned  at  Ephesus,  depriving  posterity  of  the 
proofs  of  the  cunning  of  the  fiend. 

The  conscience  of  Arbaces  was  solely  of  the  intel- 
lect— it  was  awed  by  no  moral  laws.  If  man  imposed 
these  checks  upon  the  herd,  so  he  believed  that  man, 
by  superior  wisdom,  could  raise  himself  above  them. 
"  If  [he  reasoned]  I  have  the  genius  to  impose  laws, 
have  I  not  the  right  to  command  my  own  creations? 
Still  more,  have  I  not  the  right  to  control — to  evade 
— to  scorn — the  fabrications  of  yet  meaner  intellects 
than  my  own  ?  "  Thus,  if  he  were  a  villain,  he  justi- 
fied his  villany  by  what  ought  to  have  made  him  virtu- 
ous— namely,  the  elevation  of  his  capacities. 

Most  men  have  more  or  less  the  passion  for  power ; 
in  Arbaces  that  passion  corresponded  exactly  to  his 
character.  It  was  not  the  passion  for  an  external  and 
brute  authority.  He  desired  not  the  purple  and  the 
fasces,  the  insignia  of  vulgar  command.  His  youth- 
ful ambition  once  foiled  and  defeated,  scorn  had  sup- 
plied its  place.  His  pride,  his  contempt  for  Rome — 
Rome,  which  had  become  the  synonym  of  the  world 
(Rome,  whose  haughty  name  he  regarded  with  the 
same  disdain  as  that  which  Rome  herself  lavished 
upon  the  barbarian),  did  not  permit  him  to  aspire  to 


1 78        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

sway  over  others,  for  that  would  render  him  at  once 
the  tool  or  creature  of  the  emperor.  He,  the  Son  of 
the  Great  Race  of  Rameses — he  execute  the  orders 
of,  and  receive  his  power  from  another ! — the  mere  no- 
tion filled  him  with  rage.  But  in  rejecting  an  ambi- 
tion that  coveted  nominal  distinctions,  he  but  indulged 
the  more  in  the  ambition  to  rule  the  heart.  Honour- 
ing mental  power  as  the  greatest  of  earthly  gifts,  he 
loved  to  feel  that  power  palpably  in  himself,  by  ex- 
tending it  over  all  whom  he  encountered.  Thus  had 
he  ever  sought  the  young — thus  had  he  ever  fascinat- 
ed and  controlled  them.  He  loved  to  find  subjects 
in  men's  souls — to  rule  over  an  invisible  and  imma- 
terial empire ! — had  he  been  less  sensual  and  less 
wealthy,  he  might  have  sought  to  become  the  founder 
of  a  new  religion.  As  it  was,  his  energies  were 
checked  by  his  pleasures.  Besides,  however,  the 
vague  love  of  this  moral  sway  (vanity  so  dear  to 
sages !)  he  was  influenced  by  a  singular  and  dreamlike 
devotion  to  all  that  belonged  to  the  mystic  Land  his 
ancestors  had  swayed.  Although  he  disbelieved  in 
her  deities,  he  believed  in  the  allegories  they  repre- 
sented (or  rather  he  interpreted  those  allegories 
anew).  He  loved  to  keep  alive  the  worship  of  Egypt, 
because  he  thus  maintained  the  shadow  and  the  recol- 
lection of  her  power.  He  loaded,  therefore,  the  altars 
of  Osiris  and  of  Isis  with  regal  donations,  and  was 
ever  anxious  to  dignify  their  priesthood  by  new  and 
wealthy  converts.  The  vow  taken — the  priesthood 
embraced — he  usually  chose  the  comrades  of  his 
pleasures  from  those  whom  he  had  made  his  victims, 
partly  because  he  thus  secured  to  himself  their  secrecy 
— partly  because  he  thus  yet  more  confirmed  to  him- 
self his  peculiar  power.  Hence  the  motives  of  his 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         179 

conduct  to  Apsecides,  strengthened  as  these  were,  in 
that  instance,  by  his  passion  for  lone. 

He  had  seldom  lived  long  in  one  place ;  but  as  he 
grew  older,  he  grew  more  wearied  of  the  excitement 
of  new  scenes,  and  he  had  sojourned  among  the  de- 
lightful cities  of  Campania  for  a  period  which  sur- 
prised even  himself.  In  fact,  his  pride  somewhat 
crippled  his  choice  of  residence.  His  unsuccessful 
conspiracy  excluded  him  from  those  burning  climes 
which  he  deemed  of  right  his  own  hereditary  posses- 
sion, and  which  now  cowered,  supine  and  sunken, 
under  the  wings  of  the  Roman  eagle.  Rome  herself 
was  hateful  to  his  indignant  soul ;  nor  did  he  love  to 
find  his  riches  rivalled  by  the  minions  of  the  court, 
and  cast  into  comparative  poverty  by  the  mighty 
magnificence  of  the  court  itself.  The  Campanian 
cities  proffered  to  him  all  that  his  nature  craved — the 
luxuries  of  an  unequalled  climate — the  imaginative  re- 
finements of  a  voluptuous  civilisation.  He  was  re- 
moved from  the  sight  of  a  superior  wealth ;  he  was 
without  rivals  to  his  riches  ;  he  was  free  from  the  spies 
of  a  jealous  court.  As  long  as  he  was  rich,  none 
pried  into  his  conduct.  He  pursued  the  dark  tenor 
of  his  way  undisturbed  and  secure. 

It  is  the  curse  of  sensualists  never  to  love  till  the 
pleasures  of  sense  begin  to  pall;  their  ardent  youth 
is  frittered  away  in  countless  desires — their  hearts  are 
exhausted.  So,  ever  chasing  love,  and  taught  by  a 
restless  imagination  to  exaggerate,  perhaps,  its 
charms,  the  Egyptian  had  spent  all  the  glory  of  his 
years  without  attaining  the  object  of  his  desires.  The 
beauty  of  to-morrow  succeeded  the  beauty  of  to-day, 
and  the  shadows  bewildered  him  in  his  pursuit  of  the 
substance.  When,  two  years  before  the  present  date, 


i8o        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

he  beheld  lone,  he  saw,  for  the  first  time,  one  whom 
he  imagined  he  could  love.  He  stood,  then,  upon  that 
bridge  of  life,  from  which  man  sees  before  him  dis- 
tinctly a  wasted  youth  on  the  one  side,  and  the  dark- 
ness of  approaching  age  upon  the  other:  a  time  in 
which  we  are  more  than  ever  anxious,  perhaps,  to 
secure  ourselves,  ere  it  be  yet  too  late,  whatever  we 
have  been  taught  to  consider -necessary  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  life  of  which  the  brighter  half  is  gone. 

With  an  earnestness  and  a  patience  which  he  had 
never  before  commanded  for  his  pleasures,  Arbaces 
had  devoted  himself  to  win  the  heart  of  lone.  It  did 
not  content  him  to  love,  he  desired  to  be  loved.  In 
this  hope  he  watched  the  expanding  youth  of  the 
beautiful  Neapolitan ;  and,  knowing  the  influence  that 
the  mind  possesses  over  those  who  are  taught  to  culti- 
vate the  mind,  he  had  contributed  willingly  to  form 
the  genius  and  enlighten  the  intellect  of  lone,  in  the 
hope  that  she  would  be  thus  able  to  appreciate  what 
he  felt  would  be  his  best  claim  to  her  affection ;  viz., 
a  character  which,  however  criminal  and  perverted, 
was  rich  in  its  original  elements  of  strength  and 
grandeur.  When  he  felt  that  character  to  be  ac- 
knowledged, he  willingly  allowed,  nay,  encouraged 
her,  to  mix  among  the  idle  votaries  of  pleasure,  in  the 
belief  that  her  soul,  fitted  for  higher  commune,  would 
miss  the  companionship  of  his  own,  and  that,  in  com- 
parison with  others,  she  would  learn  to  love  herself. 
He  had  forgot,  that  as  the  sunflower  to  the  sun,  so 
youth  turns  to  youth,  until  his  jealousy  of  Glaucus 
suddenly  apprised  him  of  his  error.  From  that  mo- 
ment, though,  as  we  have  seen,  he  knew  not  the  ex- 
tent of  his  danger,  a  fiercer  and  more  tumultuous 
direction  was  given  to  a  passion  long  controlled. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         181 

Nothing  kindles  the  fire  of  love  like  a  sprinkling  of 
the  anxieties  of  jealousy;  it  takes  them  a  wilder,  a 
more  resistless  flame ;  it  forgets  its  softness ;  it  ceases 
to  be  tender;  it  assumes  something  of  the  intensity 
— of  the  ferocity — of  hate. 

Arbaces  resolved  to  lose  no  further  time  upon 
cautious  and  perilous  preparations :  he  resolved  to 
place  an  irrevocable  barrier  between  himself  and  his 
rivals:  he  resolved  to  possess  himself  of  the  person 
of  lone :  not  that  in  his  present  love,  so  long  nursed 
and  fed  by  hopes  purer  than  those  of  passion  alone, 
he  would  have  been  contented  with  that  mere  posses- 
sion. He  desired  the  heart,  the  soul,  no  less  than  the 
beauty,  of  lone ;  but  he  imagined  that  once  separated 
by  a  daring  crime  from  the  rest  of  mankind — once 
bound  to  lone  by  a  tie  that  memory  could  not  break, 
she  would  be  driven  to  concentrate  her  thoughts  in 
him — that  his  arts  would  complete  his  conquest,  and 
that  according  to  the  true  moral  of  the  Roman  and 
the  Sabine,  the  empire  obtained  by  force  would  be 
cemented  by  gentler  means.  This  resolution  was  yet 
more  confirmed  in  him  by  his  belief  in  the  prophecies 
of  the  stars :  they  had  long  foretold  to  him  this  year, 
and  even  the  present  month,  as  the  epoch  of  some 
dread  disaster,  menacing  life  itself.  He  was  driven 
to  a  certain  and  limited  date.  He  resolved  to  crowd, 
monarch-like,  on  his  funeral  pyre  all  that  his  soul  held 
most  dear.  In  his  own  words,  if  he  were  to  die,  he 
resolved  to  feel  that  he  had  lived,  and  that  lone  should 
be  his  own. 


182        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 


CHAPTER   IX 

WHAT  BECOMES  OF  IONE  IN  THE  HOUSE  QF  ARBACES. — 
THE  FIRST  SIGNAL  OF  THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DREAD  FOE. 

When  lone  entered  the  spacious  hall  of  the  Egyp- 
tian, the  same  awe  which  had  crept  over  her  brother 
impressed  itself  also  upon  her;  there  seemed  to  her  as 
to  him  something  ominous  and  warning  in  the  still 
and  mournful  faces  of  those  dread  Theban  monsters, 
whose  majestic  and  passionless  features  the  marble 
so  well  portrayed: 

"  Their  look,  with  the  reach  of  past  ages,  was  wise, 
And  the  soul  of  eternity  thought  in  their  eyes." 

The  tall  ^Ethiopian  slave  grinned  as  he  admitted 
her,  and  motioned  to  her  to  proceed.  Half-way  up 
the  hall  she  was  met  by  Arbaces  himself,  in  festive 
robes,  which  glittered  with  jewels.  Although  it  was 
broad  day  without,  the  mansion,  according  to  the 
practice  of  the  luxurious,  was  artificially  darkened, 
and  the  lamps  cast  their  still  and  odour-giving  light 
over  the  rich  floors  and  ivory  roofs. 

"  Beautiful  lone !  "  said  Arbaces,  as  he  bent  to 
touch  her  hand,  "  it  is  you  that  have  eclipsed  the  day 
— it  is  your  eyes  that  light  up  the  halls — it  is  your 
breath  which  fills  them  with  perfumes." 

"  You  must  not  talk  to  me  thus,"  said  lone,  smil- 
ing :  "  you  forget  that  your  lore  has  sufficiently  in- 
structed my  mind  to  render  these  graceful  flatteries 
to  my  person  unwelcome.  It  was  you  who  taught 
me  to  disdain  adulation :  will  you  unteach  your 
pupil?" 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         183 

There  was  something  so  frank  and  charming  in  the 
manner  of  lone,  as  she  thus  spoke,  that  the  Egyptian 
was  more  than  ever  enamoured,  and  more  than  ever 
disposed  to  renew  the  offence  he  had  committed ;  he, 
however,  answered  quickly  and  gaily,  and  hastened 
to  renew  the  conversation. 

He  led  her  through  the  various  chambers  of  a  house, 
which  seemed  to  contain  to  her  eyes,  inexperienced 
to  other  splendour  than  the  minute  elegance  of  Cam- 
panian  cities,  the  treasures  of  the  world. 

In  the  walls  were  set  pictures  of  inestimable  art,  the 
lights  shone  over  statues  of  the  noblest  age  of  Greece. 
Cabinets  of  gems,  each  cabinet  itself  a  gem,  filled  up 
the  interstices  of  the  columns ;  the  most  precious 
woods  lined  the  thresholds  and  composed  the  doors; 
gold  and  jewels  seemed  lavished  all  around.  Some- 
times they  were  alone  in  these  rooms — sometimes 
they  passed  through  silent  rows  of  slaves,  who,  kneel- 
ing as  she  passed,  proffered  to  her  offerings  of  brace- 
lets, of  chains,  of  gems,  which  the  Egyptian  vainly 
entreated  her  to  receive. 

"  I  have  often  heard,"  said  she,  wonderingly,  "  that 
you  were  rich :  but  I  never  dreamed  of  the  amount 
of  your  wealth." 

"  Would  I  could  coin  it  all,"  replied  the  Egyptian, 
"  into  one  crown,  which  I  might  place  upon  that 
snowy  brow !  " 

"  Alas !  the  weight  would  crush  me :  I  should  be 
a  second  Tarpeia,"  answered  lone,  laughingly. 

"  But  thou  dost  not  disdain  riches,  O  lone !  they 
know  not  what  life  is  capable  of  who  are  not  wealthy. 
Gold  is  the  great  magician  of  earth — it  realises  our 
dreams — it  gives  them  the  power  of  a  god — there  is 
a  grandeur,  a  sublimity,  in  its  possession;  it  is  the 
mightiest,  yet  the  most  obedient  of  our  slaves." 


1 84        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  artful  Arbaces  sought  to  dazzle  the  young 
Neapolitan  by  his  treasures  and  his  eloquence ;  he 
sought  to  awaken  in  her  the  desire  to  be  mistress  of 
what  she  surveyed :  he  hoped  that  she  would  con- 
found the  owner  with  the  possessions,  and  that  the 
charms  of  his  wealth  would  be  reflected  on  himself. 
Meanwhile,  lone  was  secretly  somewhat  uneasy  at  the 
gallantries  which  escaped  from  those  lips,  which,  till 
lately,  had  seemed  to  disdain  the  common  homage 
we  pay  to  beauty:  and  with  that  delicate  subtlety, 
which  woman  alone  possesses,  she  sought  to  ward  off 
shafts  deliberately  aimed,  and  to  laugh  or  to  talk  away 
the  meaning  from  his  warming  language.  Nothing 
in  the  world  is  more  pretty  than  that  same  species  of 
defence;  it  is  the  charm  of  the  African  necromancer 
who  professed  with  a  feather  to  turn  aside  the  winds. 

The  Egyptian  was  intoxicated  and  subdued  by  her 
grace  even  more  than  by  her  beauty :  it  was  with 
difficulty  that  he  suppressed  his  emotions ;  alas ! 
the  feather  was  only  powerful  against  the  summer 
breezes — it  would  be  the  sport  of  the  storm. 

Suddenly,  as  they  stood  in  one  hall,  which  was  sur- 
rounded by  draperies  of  silver  and  white,  the  Egyp- 
tian clapped  his  hands,  and  as  if  by  enchantment,  a 
banquet  rose  from  the  floor — a  couch  or  throne,  with 
crimson  canopy,  ascended  simultaneously  at  the  feet 
of  lone, — and  at  the  same  instant  from  behind  the 
curtains  swelled  invisible  and  softest  music. 

Arbaces  placed  himself  at  the  feet  of  lone, — and 
children,  young  and  beautiful  as  Loves,  ministered  to 
the  feast. 

The  feast  was  over,  the  music  sank  into  a  low  and 
subdued  strain,  and  Arbaces  thus  addressed  his  beauti- 
ful guest: — 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         185 

"  Hast  thou  never,  in  this  dark  and  uncertain  world 
— hast  thou  never  aspired,  my  pupil,  to  look  beyond 
— hast  thou  never  wished  to  put  aside  the  veil  of 
futurity,  and  to  behold  on  the  shores  of  Fate  the 
shadowy  images  of  things  to  be?  For  it  is  not  the 
past  alone  that  has  its  ghosts :  each  event  to  come  has 
also  its  spectrum — its  shade ;  when  the  hour  arrives., 
life  enters  it,  the  shadow  becomes  corporeal,  and 
walks  the  world.  Thus,  in  the  land  beyond  the  grave 
are  ever  two  impalpable  and  spiritual  hosts — the 
things  to  be,  the  things  that  have  been !  If  by  our 
wisdom  we  can  penetrate  that  land,  we  see  the  one  as 
the  other,  and  learn,  as  /  have  learned,  not  alone  the 
mysteries  of  the  dead,  but  also  the  destiny  of  the 
living." 

"  As  thou  hast  learned ! — can  wisdom  attain  so 
far?" 

"  Wilt  thou  prove  my  knowledge,  lone,  and  behold 
the  representation  of  thine  own  fate?  It  is  a  drama 
more  striking  than  those  of  ^Eschylus :  it  is  one  I  have 
prepared  for  thee,  if  thou  wilt  see  the  shadows  per- 
form their  part." 

The  Neapolitan  trembled :  she  thought  of  Glaucus, 
and  sighed  as  well  as  trembled :  were  their  destinies 
to  be  united?  Half  incredulous,  half  believing,  half 
awed,  half  alarmed  by  the  words  of  her  strange  host, 
she  remained  for  some  moments  silent,  and  then  an- 
swered,— 

"  It  may  revolt — it  may  terrify ;  the  knowledge  of 
the  future  will  perhaps  only  embitter  the  present ! " 

"  Not  so,  lone.  I  have  myself  looked  upon  thy 
future  lot,  and  the  ghosts  of  thy  Future  bask  in  the 
garden  of  Elysium ;  amidst  the  asphodel  and  the  rose 
they  prepare  the  garlands  of  thy  sweet  destiny,  and 


1 86        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

the  Fates,  so  harsh  to  others,  weave  only  for  thee 
the  web  of  happiness  and  love.  Wilt  thou  then  come 
and  behold  thy  doom,  so  that  thou  mayest  enjoy  it 
beforehand  ?  " 

Again  the  heart  of  lone  murmured  "  Glancus;  "  she 
uttered  a  half-audible  assent ;  the  Egyptian  rose,  and 
taking  her  by  the  hand,  he  led  her  across  the  ban- 
quet-room— the  curtains  withdrew,  as  by  magic 
hands,  and  the  music  broke  forth  in  a  louder  and 
gladder  strain;  they  passed  a  row  of  columns,  on 
either  side  of  which  fountains  cast  aloft  their  fragrant 
waters ;  they  descended  by  broad  and  easy  steps  into 
a  garden.  The  eve  had  commenced;  the  moon  was 
already  high  in  heaven,  and  those  sweet  flowers  that 
sleep  by  day,  and  fill  with  ineffable  odours  the  airs  of 
night,  were  thickly  scattered  amidst  alleys  cut  through 
the  star-lit  foliage ; — or,  gathered  in  baskets,  lay  like 
offerings  at  the  feet  of  the  frequent  statues  that 
gleamed  along  their  path. 

"  Whither  wouldst  thou  lead  me,  Arbaces  ?  "  said 
lone,  wonderingly. 

"  But  yonder,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  small  build- 
ing which  stood  at  the  end  of  the  vista.  "  It  is  a  tem- 
ple consecrated  to  the  Fates — our  rites  require  such 
holy  ground." 

They  passed  into  a  narrow  hall,  at  the  end  of  which 
hung  a  sable  curtain.  Arbaces  lifted  it ;  lone  entered, 
and  found  herself  in  total  darkness. 

"  Be  not  alarmed,"  said  the  Egyptian,  "  the  light 
will  rise  instantly."  While  he  so  spoke,  a  soft,  and 
warm,  and  gradual  light  diffused  itself  around ;  as  it 
spread  over  each  object,  lone  perceived  that  she  was 
in  an  apartment  of  moderate  size,  hung  everywhere 
with  black;  a  couch  with  draperies  of  the  same  hue 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         187 

was  beside  her.     In  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a 
small  altar,  on  which  stood  a  tripod  of  bronze.     At 
one  side,  upon  a  lofty  column  of  granite,  was  a  colos- 
sal head  of  the  blackest  marble,  which  she  perceived, 
by  the  crown  of  wheat-ears  that  encircled  the  brow, 
represented  the   great  Egyptian   goddess.     Arbaces 
stood  before  the  altar :  he  had  laid  his  garland  on  the 
shrine,  and  seemed  occupied  with  pouring  into  the 
tripod  the  contents  of  a  brazen  vase.     Suddenly  from 
that  tripod  leaped  into  life  a  blue,  quick,  darting,  ir- 
regular flame ;  the  Egyptian  drew  back  to  the  side  of 
lone,  and  muttered  some  words  in  a  language  un- 
familiar to  her  ear ;  the  curtain  at  the  back  of  the  altar 
waved  tremulously  to  and  fro— it  parted  slowly,  and 
in  the  aperture  which  was  thus  made,  lone  beheld  an 
indistinct  and  pale  landscape,  which  gradually  grew 
brighter  and  clearer  as  she  gazed ;  at  length  she  dis- 
covered plainly  trees,  and  rivers,  and  meadows,  and 
all  the  beautiful  diversity  of  the  richest  earth. ,  At 
length,  before  the  landscape  a  dim  shadow  glided ;  it 
rested    opposite   to    lone ;    slowly   the    same    charm 
seemed  to  operate  upon  it  as  over  the  rest  of  the 
scene ;  it  took  form  and  shape,  and  lo ! — in  its  feature 
and  in  its  form  lone  beheld  herself! 

Then  the  scene  behind  the  spectre  faded  away,  and 
was  succeeded  by  the  representation  of  a  gorgeous 
palace ;  a  throne  was  raised  in  the  centre  of  its  hall — 
the  dim  forms  of  slaves  and  guards  were  ranged 
around  it,  and  a  pale  hand  held  over  the  throne  the 
likeness  of  a  diadem. 

A  new  actor  now  appeared ;  he  was  clothed  from 
head  to  foot  in  a  dark  robe — his  face  was  concealed 
— he  knelt  at  the  feet  of  the  shadowy  lone — he  clasped 
her  hand — he  pointed  to  the  throne,  as  if  to  invite  her 
to  ascend  it. 


1 88        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  Neapolitan's  heart  beat  violently.  "  Shall  the 
shadow  disclose  itself?  "  whispered  a  voice  beside  her 
— the  voice  of  Arbaces. 

"  Ah,  yes !  "  answered  lone,  softly. 

Arbaces  raised  his  hand — the  spectre  seemed  to 
drop  the  mantle  that  concealed  its  form — and  lone 
shrieked — it  was  Arbaces  himself  that  thus  knelt  be- 
fore her. 

"  This  is,  indeed,  thy  fate !  "  whispered  again  the 
Egyptian's  voice  in  her  ear ;  "  and  thou  art  destined 
to  be  the  bride  of  Arbaces." 

lone  started — the  black  curtain  closed  over  the 
phantasmagoria:  and  Arbaces  himself — the  real,  the 
living  Arbaces — was  at  her  feet. 

"  Oh,  lone ! "  said  he,  passionately  gazing  upon 
her;  "listen  to  one  who  has  long  struggled  vainly 
with  his  love.  I  adore  thee !  The  Fates  do  not  lie — 
thou  art  destined  to  be  mine — I  have  sought  the 
world  around,  and  found  none  like  thee.  From  my 
youth  upward  I  have  sighed  for  such  as  thou  art.  I 
have  dreamed  till  I  saw  thee — I  wake,  and  I  behold 
thee.  Turn  not  away  from  me,  lone ;  think  not  of 
me  as  thou  hast  thought ;  I  am  not  that  being — cold, 
insensate,  and  morose,  which  I  have  seemed  to  thee. 
Never  woman  had  lover  so  devoted — so  passionate 
as  I  will  be  to  lone.  Do  not  struggle  in  my  clasp: 
see — I  release  thy  hand.  Take  it  from  me  if  thou 
wilt — well,  be  it  so !  But  do  not  reject  me,  lone — 
do  not  rashly  reject — judge  of  the  power  over  him 
whom  thou  canst  thus  transform.  I,  who  never  knelt 
to  mortal  being,  kneel  to  thee.  I,  who  have  com- 
manded fate,  receive  from  thee  my  own.  lone,  trem- 
ble not,  thou  art  my  queen — my  goddess: — be  my 
bride!  All  the  wishes  thou  canst  form  shall  be  ful- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         189 

filled.  The  ends  of  the  earth  shall  minister  to  thee 
— pomp,  power,  luxury,  shall  be  thy  slaves.  Arbaces 
shall  have  no  ambition,  save  the  pride  of  obeying 
thee.  lone,  turn  upon  me  those  eyes — shed  upon  me 
thy  smile.  Dark  is  my  soul  when  thy  face  is  hid  from 
it: — shine  over  me,  my  sun — my  heaven — my  day- 
light ! — lone,  lone — do  not  reject  my  love !  " 

Alone,  and  in  the  power  of  this  singular  and  fear- 
ful man,  lone  was  yet  not  terrified ;  the  respect  of  his 
language,  the  softness  of  his  voice,  reassured  her; 
and,  in  her  own  purity,  she  felt  protection.  But  she 
was  confused — astonished :  it  was  some  moments  be- 
fore she  could  recover  the  power  of  reply. 

"  Rise,  Arbaces !  "  said  she  at  length ;  and  she  re- 
signed to  him  once  more  her  hand,  which  she  as 
quickly  withdrew  again,  when  she  felt  upon  it  the 
burning  pressure  of  his  lips.  "  Rise !  and  if  thou  art 
serious,  if  thy  language  be  in  earnest " 

"  If!  "  said  he  tenderly. 

"Well,  then,  listen  to  me:  you  have  been  my 
guardian,  my  friend,  my  monitor;  for  this  new  char- 
acter I  was  not  prepared; — think  not,"  she  added 
quickly,  as  she  saw  his  dark  eyes  glitter  with  the 
fierceness  of  his  passion — "  think  not  that  I  scorn — 
that  I  am  not  touched — that  I  am  not  honoured  by 
this  homage;  but  say — canst  thou  hear  me  calmly?" 

"  Ay,  though  thy  words  were  lightning,  and  could 
blast  me !  " 

"  I  love  another! "  said  lone,  blushingly,  but  in  a 
firm  voice. 

"  By  the  gods — by  hell !  "  shouted  Arbaces,  rising 
to  his  fullest  height ;  "  dare  not  tell  me  that — dare  not 
mock  me : — it  is  impossible ! — Whom  hast  thou  seen 
— who  known  ?  Oh,  lone !  it  is  thy  woman's  inven- 


190        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

tion,  thy  woman's  art  that  speaks — thou  wouldst  gain 
time :  I  have  surprised — I  have  terrified  thee.  Do 
with  me  as  thou  wilt — say  that  thou  lovest  not  me; 
but  say  not  that  thou  lovest  another !  " 

"  Alas !  "  began  lone ;  and  then,  appalled  before  his 
sudden  and  unlooked-for  violence,  she  burst  into 
tears. 

Arbaces  came  nearer  to  her — his  breath  glowed 
fiercely  on  her  cheek;  he  wound  his  arms  round  her 
— she  sprang  from  his  embrace.  In  the  struggle  a 
tablet  fell  from  her  bosom  on  the  ground :  Arbaces 
perceived,  and  seized  it — it  was  the  letter  that  morn- 
ing received  from  Glaucus.  lone  sank  upon  the 
couch,  half  dead  with  terror. 

Rapidly  the  eyes  of  Arbaces  ran  over  the  writing; 
the  Neapolitan  did  not  dare  to  gaze  upon  him :  she 
did  not  see  the  deadly  paleness  that  came  over  his 
countenance — she  marked  not  his  withering  frown, 
nor  the  quivering  of  his  lip,  nor  the  convulsions  that 
heaved  his  breast.  He  read  it  to  the  end,  and  then, 
as  the  letter  fell  from  his  hand,  he  said  in  a  voice  of 
deceitful  calmness, — 

"  Is  the  writer  of  this  the  man  thou  lovest?  " 

lone  sobbed,  but  answered  not. 

"  Speak !  "  he  rather  shrieked  than  said. 

"  It  is— it  is !  " 

"  And  his  name — it  is  written  here — his  name  is 
Glaucus !  " 

lone,  clasping  her  hands,  looked  round  as  for  suc- 
cour or  escape. 

"  Then  hear  me,"  said  Arbaces,  sinking  his  voice 
into  a  whisper ;  "  thou  shalt  go  to  thy  tomb  rather 
than  to  his  arms !  What !  thinkest  thou  Arbaces  will 
brook  a  rival  such  as  this  puny  Greek  ?  What !  think- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         191 

est  thou  that  he  has  watched  the  fruit  ripen  to  yield 
it  to  another !  Pretty  fool — no !  Thou  art  mine — 
all — only  mine :  and  thus — thus  I  seize  and  claim 
thee !  "  As  he  spoke,  he  caught  lone  in  his  arms ; 
and  in  that  ferocious  grasp  was  all  the  energy — less 
of  love  than  of  revenge. 

But  to  lone  despair  gave  supernatural  strength ; 
she  again  tore  herself  from  him — she  rushed  to  that 
part  of  the  room  by  which  she  had  entered — she  half 
withdrew  the  curtain — he  seized  her — again  she  broke 
away  from  him — and  fell,  exhausted,  and  with  a  loud 
shriek,  at  the  base  of  the  column  which  supported  the 
head  of  the  Egyptian  goddess.  Arbaces  paused  for 
a  moment,  as  if  to  regain  his  breath;  and  then  once 
more  darted  upon  his  prey. 

At  that  instant  the  curtain  was  rudely  torn  aside, 
the  Egyptian  felt  a  fierce  and  strong  grasp  upon  his 
shoulder.  He  turned — he  beheld  before  him  the 
flashing  eyes  of  Glaucus,  and  the  pale,  worn,  but 
menacing,  countenance  of  Apaecides.  "  Ah,"  he  mut- 
tered, as  he  glared  from  one  to  the  other,  "  what  Fury 
hath  sent  ye  hither?" 

"  Ate,"  answered  Glaucus ;  and  he  closed  at  once 
with  the  Egyptian.  Meanwhile,  Apaecides  raised  his 
sister,  now  lifeless,  from  the  ground ;  his  strength,  ex- 
hausted by  a  mind  long  over-wrought,  did  not  suffice 
to  bear  her  away,  light  and  delicate  though  her  shape  ; 
he  placed  her,  therefore,  on  the  couch,  and  stood  over 
her  with  a  brandishing  knife,  watching  the  contest 
between  Glaucus  and  the  Egyptian,  and  ready  to 
plunge  his  weapon  in  the  bosom  of  Arbaces  should 
he  be  victorious  in  the  struggle.  There  is,  perhaps, 
nothing  on  earth  so  terrible  as  the  naked  and  un- 
armed contest  of  animal  strength,  no  weapon  but 


192        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

those  whicji  Nature  supplies  to  rage.  Both  the  an- 
tagonists were  now  locked  in  each  other's  grasp — the 
hand  of  each  seeking  the  throat  of  the  other — the  face 
drawn  back — the  fierce  eyes  flashing — the  muscles 
strained — the  veins  swelled — the  lips  apart — the  teeth 
set; — both  were  strong  beyond  the  ordinary  power 
of  men,  both  animated  by  relentless  wrath ;  they 
coiled,  they  wound  around  each  other;  they  rocked 
to  and  fro — they  swayed  from  end  to  end  of  their 
confined  arena — they  uttered  cries  of  ire  and  revenge ; 
— they  were  now  before  the  altar — now  at  the  base 
of  the  column  where  the  struggle  had  commenced : 
they  drew  back  for  breath — Arbaces  leaning  against 
the  column — Glaucus  a  few  paces  apart. 

"  O  ancient  goddess !  "  exclaimed  Arbaces,  clasp- 
ing the  column,  and  raising  his  eyes  toward  the  sacred 
image  it  supported,  "  protect  thy  chosen, — proclaim 
thy  vengeance  against  this  thing  of  an  upstart  creed, 
who  with  sacrilegious  violence  profanes  thy  resting- 
place,  and  assails  thy  servant." 

As  he  spoke,  the  still  and  vast  features  of  the  god- 
dess seemed  suddenly  to  glow  with  life ;  through  the 
black  marble,  as  through  a  transparent  veil,  flushed 
luminously  a  crimson  and  burning  hue;  around  the 
head  played  and  darted  coruscations  of  vivid  light- 
ning; the  eyes  became  like  balls  of  lurid  fire,  and 
seemed  fixed  in  withering  and  intolerable  wrath  upon 
the  countenance  of  the  Greek.  Awed  and  appalled 
by  this  sudden  and  mystic  answer  to  the  prayer  of  his 
foe,  and  not  free  from  the  hereditary  superstitions  of 
his  race,  the  cheeks  of  Glaucus  paled  before  that 
strange  and  ghastly  animation  of  the  marble. — His 
knees  knocked  together, — he  stood,  seized  with  a  di- 
vine panic,  dismayed,  aghast,  half  unmanned  before 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         193 

his  foe !  Arbaces  gave  him  not  breathing  time  to 
recover  his  stupor :  "  Die,  wretch !  "  he  shouted,  in 
a  voice  of  thunder,  as  he  sprang  upon  the  Greek; 
"  the  Mighty  Mother  claims  thee  as  a  living  sacri- 
fice !  "  Taken  thus  by  surprise  in  the  first  consterna- 
tion of  his  superstitious  fears,  the  Greek  lost  his  foot- 
ing— the  marble  floor  was  as  smooth  as  glass — he 
slid — he  fell.  Arbaces  planted  his  foot  on  the  breast 
of  his  fallen  foe.  Apsecides,  taught  by  his  sacred  pro- 
fession, as  well  as  by  his  knowledge  of  Arbaces,  to 
distrust  all  miraculous  interpositions,  had  not  shared 
the  dismay  of  his  companion;  he  rushed  forward, — 
his  knife  gleamed  in  the  air, — the  watchful  Egyptian 
caught  his  arm  as  it  descended, — one  wrench  of  his 
powerful  hand  tore  the  weapon  from  the  weak  grasp 
of  the  priest,  one  sweeping  blow  stretched  him  to  the 
earth — with  a  loud  and  exulting  yell  Arbaces  bran- 
dished the  knife  on  high.  Glaucus  gazed  upon  his 
impending  fate  with  unwinking  eyes,  and  in  the  stern 
and  scornful  resignation  of  a  fallen  gladiator;  when, 
at  that  awful  instant,  the  floor  shook  under  them  with 
a  rapid  and  convulsive  throe, — a  mightier  spirit  than 
that  of  the  Egyptian  was  abroad ! — a  giant  and  crush- 
ing power,  before  which  sunk  into  sudden  impotence 
his  passion  and  his  arts.  IT  woke — it  stirred — that 
Dread  Demon  of  the  Earthquake — laughing  to  scorn 
alike  the  magic  of  human  guile  and  the  malice  of  hu- 
man wrath.  As  a  Titan,  on  whom  the  mountains  are 
piled,  it  roused  itself  from  the  sleep  of  years, — it 
moved  on  its  tortured  couch, — the  caverns  below 
groaned  and  trembled  beneath  the  motion  of  its  limbs. 
In  the  moment  of  his  vengeance  and  his  power  the 
self-prized  demigod  was  humbled  to  his  real  clay. 
Far  and  wide  along  the  soil  went  a  hoarse  and  rum- 
13 


194        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

bling  sound, — the  curtains  of  the  chamber  shook  as  at 
the  blast  of  a  storm, — the  altar  rocked — the  tripod 
reeled,  and,  high  over  the  place  of  contest,  the  column 
trembled  and  waved  from  side  to  side, — the  sable  head 
of  the  goddess  tottered  and  fell  from  its  pedestal; — 
and  as  the  Egyptian  stooped  above  his  intended  vic- 
tim, right  upon  his  bended  form,  right  between  the 
shoulder  and  the  neck,  struck  the  marble  mass !  The 
shock  stretched  him  like  the  blow  of  death,  at  once, 
suddenly,  without  sound  or  motion,  or  semblance  of 
life,  upon  the  floor,  apparently  crushed  by  the  very 
divinity  he  had  impiously  animated  and  invoked ! 

"  The  Earth  has  preserved  her  children,"  said 
Glaucus,  staggering  to  his  feet.  "  Blessed  be  the 
dread  convulsion !  Let  us  worship  the  providence  of 
the  gods !  "  He  assisted  Apsecides  to  rise,  and  then 
turned  upward  the  face  of  Arbaces ;  it  seemed  locked 
as  in  death ;  blood  gushed  from  the  Egyptian's  lips 
over  his  glittering  robes ;  he  fell  heavily  from  the 
arms  of  Glaucus,  and  the  red  stream  trickled  slowly 
along  the  marble.  Again  the  earth  shook  beneath 
their  feet ;  they  were  forced  to  cling  to  each  other ;  the 
convulsion  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  came ;  they  tar- 
ried no  longer ;  Glaucus  bore  lone  lightly  in  his  arms, 
and  they  fled  from  the  unhallowed  spot.  But  scarce 
had  they  entered  the  garden  than  they  were  met  on 
all  sides  by  flying  and  disordered  groups  of  women 
and  slaves,  whose  festive  and  glittering  garments  con- 
trasted in  mockery  the  solemn  terror  of  the  hour; 
they  did  not  appear  to  heed  the  strangers, — they  were 
occupied  only  with  their  own  fears.  After  the  tran- 
quillity of  sixteen  years,  that  burning  and  treacherous 
soil  again  menaced  destruction ;  they  uttered  but  one 
cry,  "THE  EARTHQUAKE!  THE  EARTHQUAKE!"  and 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         195 

passing  unmolested  from  the  midst  of  them,  Apaecides 
and  his  companions,  without  entering  the  house, 
hastened  down  one  of  the  alleys,  passed  a  small  open 
gate,  and  there,  sitting  on  a  little  mound  over  which 
spread  the  gloom  of  the  dark  green  aloes,  the  moon- 
light fell  on  the  bended  figure  of  the  blind  girl, — she 
was  weeping  bitterly. 


BOOK   III 


'A\Aek, 

Ka\6v~  T\V  yitp  iroratiffoueu  S<ri/xa,  Salvor, 
""?t  e>  'EfcaTiy,  retc  /col  <nci5\aKes  rpo^4ovrtt 

vtKV<av  avb.  r'  fypla,  Ktd  fj.t\at>  a7wa. 
XaTp',  'EK<£TO  8a<nrA.f;T«,  tal  ^j  T«A.os  a/j.aiv  oiraSei, 
*ci^)ua/ca  ra09  fpSoura  xepdova  njre  n  KipKas. 
MfiTf  TI  MrjSeras,  ufae  favOas  Ilepi/i^Sas. 

THEOCRITUS. 

Now  sacred  moon  —  the  mysteries  of  my  song 
To  thee  and  hell-born  Hecate  belong. 
Pale  Hecate,  who  stalks  o'er  many  a  tomb, 
And  adds  fresh  horror  to  sepulchral  gloom  ; 
Whilst  reeking  gore  distains  the  paths  of  death; 
And  bloodhounds  fly  the  blasting  of  her  breath. 
Hail,  Hecate  !  and  give  my  rising  spell 
Ev'n  Perimeda's  sorceries  to  excel  : 
Bid  the  strong  witchery  match  ev'n  Circe's  skill, 
And  with  Medea's  venom'd  fury  fill. 

POLWHELE'S  Translation. 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    FORUM     OF    THE    POMPEIANS ; THE    FIRST    RUDE 

MACHINERY  BY  WHICH  THE  NEW  ERA  OF  THE  WORLD 
WAS  WROUGHT. 

It  was  early  noon,  and  the  forum  was  crowded  alike 
with  the  busy  and  the  idle.  As  at  Paris  at  this  day, 
so  at  that  time  in  the  cities  of  Italy,  men  lived  almost 
wholly  out  of  doors :  the  public  buildings,  the  forum, 
the  porticoes,  the  baths,  the  temples  themselves 
might  be  considered  their  real  homes ;  it  was  no  won- 

196 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         197 

der  that  they  decorated  so  gorgeously  these  favourite 
places  of  resort — they  felt  for  them  a  sort  of  domestic 
affection  as  well  as  a  public  pride.  And  animated 
was,  indeed,  the  aspect  of  the  forum  of  Pompeii  at 
that  time !  Along  its  broad  pavement,  composed  of 
large  flags  of  marble,  were  assembled  various  groups, 
conversing  in  that  energetic  fashion  which  appropri- 
ates a  gesture  to  every  word,  and  which  is  still  the 
characteristic  of  the  people  of  the  south.  Here,  in 
seven  stalls  on  one  side  the  colonnade,  sat  the  money- 
changers, with  their  glittering  heaps  before  them,  and 
merchants  and  seamen  in  various  costumes  crowding 
round  their  stalls.  On  one  side,  several  men  in  long 
togas  x  were  seen  bustling  up  to  a  stately  edifice, 
where  the  magistrates  administered  justice; — these 
were  the  lawyers,  active,  chattering,  joking,  and  pun- 
ning, as  you  may  find  them  at  this  day  in  Westmin- 
ster. In  the  centre  of  the  space,  pedestals  supported 
various  statues,  of  which  the  most  remarkable  was 
the  stately  form  of  Cicero.  Around  the  court  ran  a 
regular  and  symmetrical  colonnade  of  Doric  archi- 
tecture ;  and  there  several,  whose  business  drew  them 
early  to  the  place,  were  taking  the  slight  morning  re- 
past which  made  an  Italian  breakfast,  talking  vehe- 
mently on  the  earthquake  of  the  preceding  night  as 
they  dipped  pieces  of  bread  in  their  cups  of  diluted 
wine.  In  the  open  space,  too,  you  might  perceive 
various  petty  traders  exercising  the  arts  of  their  call- 
ing. Here  one  man  was  holding  out  ribands  to  a  fair 
dame  from  the  country ;  another  man  was  vaunting 
to  a  stout  farmer  the  excellence  of  his  shoes ;  a  third, 

1  For  the  lawyers  and  the  clients,  when  attending  on  their 
patrons,  retained  the  toga  after  it  had  fallen  into  disuse  among 
the  rest  of  the  citizens. 


198        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

a  kind  of  stall-restaurateur,  still  so  common  in  the 
Italian  cities,  was  supplying  many  a  hungry  mouth 
with  hot  messes  from  his  small  and  itinerant  stove, 
while — contrast  strongly  typical  of  the  mingled  bustle 
and  intellect  of  the  time — close  by,  a  schoolmaster 
was  expounding  to  his  puzzled  pupils  the  elements  of 
the  Latin  grammar.1  A  gallery  above  the  portico, 
which  was  ascended  by  small  wooden  staircases,  had 
also  its  throng;  though,  as  here  the  immediate  busi- 
ness of  the  place  was  mainly  carried  on,  its  groups 
wore  a  more  quiet  and  serious  air. 

Every  now  and  then  the  crowd  below  respectfully 
gave  way  as  some  senator  swept  along  to  the  Temple 
of  Jupiter  (which  filled  up  one  side  of  the  forum,  and 
was  the  senators'  hall  of  meeting),  nodding  with  os- 
tentatious condescension  to  such  of  his  friends  or 
clients  as  he  distinguished  amongst  the  throng. 
Mingling  amidst  the  gay  dresses  of  the  better  orders 
you  saw  the  hardy  forms  of  the  neighbouring  farmers, 
as  they  made  their  way  to  the  public  granaries.  Hard 
by  the  temple  you  caught  a  view  of  the  triumphal 
arch,  and  the  long  street  beyond  swarming  with  in- 
habitants ;  in  one  of  the  niches  of  the  arch  a  fountain 
played,  cheerily  sparkling  in  the  sunbeams  ;  and  above 
its  cornice  rose  the  bronzed  and  equestrian  statue  of 
Caligula,  strongly  contrasting  the  gay  summer  skies. 
Behind  the  stalls  of  the  money-changers  was  that 
building  now  called  the  Pantheon ;  and  a  crowd  of 

1  In  the  Museum  at  Naples  is  a  picture  little  known,  but 
representing  one  side  of  the  forum  at  Pompeii  as  then  exist- 
ing, iO  which  I  am  much  indebted  in  the  present  description. 
It  may  afford  a  learned  consolation  to  my  younger  readers  to 
know  that  the  ceremony  of  hoisting  (more  honoured  in  the 
breach  than  the  observance)  is  of  high  antiquity,  and  seems 
to  have  been  performed  with  all  legitimate  and  public  vigour 
in  the  forum  of  Pompeii. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         199 

the  poorer  Pompeians  passed  through  the  small  vesti- 
bule which  admitted  to  the  interior,  with  panniers  un- 
der their  arms,  pressing  on  towards  a  platform,  placed 
between  two  columns,  where  such  provisions  as  the 
priests  had  rescued  from  sacrifice  were  exposed  for 
sale. 

At  one  of  the  public  edifices  appropriated  to  the 
business  of  the  city,  workmen  were  employed  upon 
the  columns,  and  you  heard  the  noise  of  their  labour 
every  now  and  then  rising  above  the  hum  of  the  mul- 
titude:— the  columns  are  unfinished  to  this  day! 

All,  then,  united,  nothing  could  exceed  in  variety 
the  costumes,  the  ranks,  the  manner,  the  occupations 
of  the  crowd ; — nothing  could  exceed  the  bustle,  the 
gaiety,  the  animation,  the  flow  and  flush  of  life  all 
around.  You  saw  there  all  the  myriad  signs  of  a 
heated  and  feverish  civilisation — where  pleasure  and 
commerce,  idleness  and  labour,  avarice  and  ambition, 
mingled  in  one  gulf  their  motley,  rushing,  yet  har- 
monious, streams. 

Facing  the  steps  of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter,  with 
folded  arms,  and  a  knit  and  contemptuous  brow,  stood 
a  man  of  about  fifty  years  of  age.  His  dress  was  re- 
markably plain — not  so  much  from  its  material,  as 
from  the  absence  of  all  those  ornaments  which  were 
worn  by  the  Pompeians  of  every  rank — partly  from 
the  love  of  show,  partly,  also,  because  they  were 
chiefly  wrought  into  those  shapes  deemed  most  effi- 
cacious in  resisting  the  assaults  of  magic  and  the  in- 
fluence of  the  evil  eye.1  His  forehead  was  high  and 
bald ;  the  few  locks  that  remained  at  the  back  of  the 
head  were  concealed  by  a  sort  of  cowl,  which  made 
a  part  of  his  cloak,  to  be  raised  or  lowered  at  pleas- 
1  See  note  (a)  at  the  end. 


200        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

ure,  and  was  now  drawn  half-way  over  the  head,  as 
a  protection  from  the  rays  of  the  sun.  The  colour 
of  his  garments  was  brown,  no  popular  hue  with  the 
Pompeians ;  all  the  usual  admixtures  of  scarlet  or  pur- 
ple seemed  carefully  excluded.  His  belt,  or  girdle, 
contained  a  small  receptacle  for  ink,  which  hooked 
on  to  the  girdle,  a  stilus  (or  implement  of  writing), 
and  tablets  of  no  ordinary  size.  What  was  rather 
remarkable,  the  cincture  held  no  purse,  which  was  the 
almost  indispensable  appurtenance  of  the  girdle,  even 
when  that  purse  had  the  misfortune  to  be  empty ! 

It  was  not  often  that  the  gay  and  egotistical  Pom- 
peians busied  themselves  with  observing  the  coun- 
tenances and  actions  of  their  neighbours ;  but  there 
was  that  in  the  lip  and  eye  of  this  bystander  so  re- 
markably bitter  and  disdainful,  as  he  surveyed  the 
religious  procession  sweeping  up  the  stairs  of  the 
temple,  that  it  could  not  fail  to  arrest  the  notice  of 
many. 

"  Who  is  yon  cynic?  "  asked  a  merchant  of  his  com- 
panion, a  jeweller. 

"  It  is  Olinthus,"  replied  the  jeweller ;  "  a  reputed 
Nazarene." 

The  merchant  shuddered.  "  A  dread  sect ! "  said 
he,  in  a  whispered  and  fearful  voice.  "  It  is  said  that 
when  they  meet  at  nights  they  always  commence  their 
ceremonies  by  the  murder  of  a  new-born  babe :  they 
profess  a  community  of  goods,  too — the  wretches ! 
A  community  of  goods !  What  would  become  of 
merchants,  or  jewellers  either,  if  such  notions  were 
in  fashion?  " 

"  That  is  very  true,"  said  the  jeweller ;  "  besides 
they  wear  no  jewels — they  mutter  imprecations  when 
they  see  a  serpent ;  and  at  Pompeii  all  our  ornaments 
are  serpentine." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        201 

"  Do  but  observe,"  said  a  third  who  was  a  fabricant 
of  bronze,  "  how  yon  Nazarene  scowls  at  the  piety  of 
the  sacrificial  procession.  He  is  murmuring  curses 
on  the  temple,  be  sure.  Do  you  know,  Celcinus,  that 
this  fellow,  passing  by  my  shop  the  other  day,  and 
seeing  me  employed  on  a  statue  of  Minerva,  told  me 
with  a  frown  that,  had  it  been  marble,  he  would  have 
broken  it;  but  the  bronze  was  too  strong  for  him. 
'  Break  a  goddess  ! '  said  I,  '  A  goddess  ! '  answered 
the  atheist ;  '  it  is  a  demon — an  evil  spirit ! '  Then 
he  passed  on  his  way  cursing.  Are  such  things  to  be 
borne?  What  marvel  that  the  earth  heaved  so  fear- 
fully last  night,  anxious  to  reject  the  atheist  from  her 
bosom  ? — An  atheist  do  I  say  ?  worse  still — a  scorner 
of  the  Fine  Arts !  Woe  to  us  fabricants  of  bronze,  if 
such  fellows  as  this  give  the  law  to  society ! " 

"  These  are  the  incendiaries  that  burnt  Rome  un- 
der Nero,"  groaned  the  jeweller. 

While  such  were  the  friendly  remarks  provoked  by 
the  air  and  faith  of  the  Nazarene,  Olinthus  himself 
became  sensible  of  the  effect  he  was  producing;  he 
turned  his  eyes  round,  and  observed  the  intent  faces 
of  the  accumulating  throng,  whispering  as  they 
gazed;  and  surveying  them  for  a  moment  with  an 
expression,  first  of  defiance  and  afterwards  of  com- 
passion, he  gathered  his  cloak  round  him  and  passed 
on,  muttering  audibly,  "  Deluded  idolaters ! — did  not 
last  night's  convulsion  warn  ye  ?  Alas !  how  will  ye 
meet  the  last  day?" 

The  crowd  that  heard  these  boding  words  gave 
them  different  interpretations,  according  to  their  dif- 
ferent shades  of  ignorance  and  of  fear ;  ail,  nowever, 
concurred  in  imagining  them  to  convey  some  awful 
imprecation.  They  regarded  the  Christian  as  the 


202        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

enemy  of  mankind;  the  epithets  they  lavished  upon 
him,  of  which  "  Atheist "  was  the  most  favoured  and 
frequent,  may  serve,  perhaps,  to  warn  us,  believers 
of  that  same  creed  now  triumphant,  how  we  indulge 
the  persecution  of  opinion  Olinthus  then  underwent, 
and  how  we  apply  to  those  whose  notions  differ  from 
our  own  the  terms  at  that  day  lavished  on  the  fathers 
of  our  faith. 

As  Olinthus  stalked  through  the  crowd,  and  gained 
one  of  the  more  private  places  of  egress  from  the 
forum,  he  perceived  gazing  upon  him  a  pale  and  ear- 
nest countenance,  which  he  was  not  slow  to  recog- 
nise. 

Wrapped  in  a  pallium  that  partially  concealed  his 
sacred  robes,  the  young  Apsecides  surveyed  the  dis- 
ciple of  that  new  and  mysterious  creed,  to  which  at 
one  time  he  had  been  half  a  convert. 

"  Is  he,  too,  an  impostor?  Does  this  man,  so  plain 
and  simple  in  life,  in  garb,  in  mien — does  he  too,  like 
Arbaces,  make  austerity  the  robe  of  the  sensualist? 
Does  the  veil  of  Vesta  hide  the  vices  of  the  prosti- 
tute?" 

Olinthus,  accustomed  to  men  of  all  classes,  and 
combining  with  the  enthusiasm  of  his  faith  a  pro- 
found experience  of  his  kind,  guessed,  perhaps,  by 
the  index  of  the  countenance,  something  of  what 
passed  within  the  breast  of  the  priest.  He  met  the 
survey  of  Apaecides  with  a  steady  eye,  and  a  brow  of 
serene  and  open  candour. 

"  Peace  be  with  thee !  "  said  he,  saluting  Apsecides. 

"  Peace !  "  echoed  the  priest,  in  so  hollow  a  tone 
thac  ii  went  at  once  to  the  heart  of  the  Nazarene. 

"  In  that  wish,"  continued  Olinthus,  "  all  good 
things  are  combined — without  virtue  thou  canst  not 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        203 

have  peace.  Like  the  rainbow,  Peace  rests  upon  the 
earth,  but  its  arch  is  lost  in  heaven.  Heaven  bathes 
it  in  hues  of  light — it  springs  up  amidst  tears  and 
clouds, — it  is  a  reflection  of  the  Eternal  Sun, — it  is 
an  assurance  of  calm — it  is  the  sign  of  a  great  cov- 
enant between  Man  and  God.  Such  peace,  O  young 
man !  is  the  smile  of  the  soul ;  it  is  an  emanation  from 
the  distant  orb  of  immortal  light.  PEACE  be  with 
you!" 

"  Alas  !  "  began  Apaecides,  when  he  caught  the  gaze 
of  the  curious  loiterers,  inquisitive  to  know  what  could 
possibly  be  the  theme  of  conversation  between  a  re- 
puted Nazarene  and  a  priest  of  Isis.  He  stopped 
short,  and  then  added  in  a  low  tone — "  We  cannot 
converse  here,  I  will  follow  thee  to  the  banks  of  the 
river;  there  is  a  walk  which  at  this  time  is  usually 
deserted  and  solitary." 

Olinthus  bowed  assent.  He  passed  through  the 
streets  with  a  hasty  step,  but  a  quick  and  observant 
eye.  Every  now  and  then  he  exchanged  a  significant 
glance,  a  slight  sign,  with  some  passenger,  whose 
garb  usually  betokened  the  wearer  to  belong  to  the 
humbler  classes ;  for  Christianity  was  in  this  the  type 
of  all  other  and  less  mighty  revolutions — the  grain  of 
mustard-seed  was  in  the  hearts  of  the  lowly.  Amidst 
the  huts  of  poverty  and  labour,  the  vast  stream  which 
afterwards  poured  its  broad  waters  beside  the  cities 
and  palaces  of  earth  took  its  neglected  source. 


204        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 
CHAPTER  II 

THE  NOONDAY  EXCURSION  ON  THE  CAMPANIAN  SEAS. 

"  But  tell  me,  Glaucus,"  said  lone,  as  they  glided 
down  the  rippling  Sarnus  in  their  boat  of  pleasure, 
"  how  earnest  thou  with  Apsecides  to  my  rescue  from 
that  bad  man  ?  " 

"  Ask  Nydia  yonder,"  answered  the  Athenian, 
pointing  to  the  blind  girl,  who  sat  at  a  little  distance 
from  them,  leaning  pensively  over  her  lyre — "  she 
must  have  thy  thanks,  not  we.  It  seems  that  she 
came  to  my  house,  and,  finding  me  from  home,  sought 
thy  brother  in  his  temple ;  he  accompanied  her  to  Ar- 
baces ;  on  their  way  they  encountered  me,  with  a  com- 
pany of  friends,  whom  thy  kind  letter  had  given  me 
a  spirit  cheerful  enough  to  join.  Nydia's  quick  ear 
detected  my  voice — a  few  words  sufficed  to  make  me 
the  companion  of  Apaecides ;  I  told  not  my  associ- 
ates why  I  left  them — could  I  trust  thy  name  to  their 
light  tongues  and  gossiping  opinion? — Nydia  led  us 
to  the  garden  gate,  by  which  we  afterwards  bore  thee 
— we  entered,  and  were  about  to  plunge  into  the 
mysteries  of  that  evil  house,  when  we  heard  thy  cry 
in  another  direction.  Thou  knowest  the  rest." 

lone  blushed  deeply.  She  then  raised  her  eyes  to 
those  of  Glaucus,  and  he  felt  all  the  thanks  she  could 
not  utter.  "  Come  hither,  my  Nydia,"  said  she,  ten- 
derly to  the  Thessalian.  '*  Did  I  not  tell  thee  that 
thou  shouldst  be  my  sister  and  friend?  Hast  thou 
not  already  been  more? — my  guardian,  my  pre- 
server !  " 

"  It  is  nothing,"  answered  Nydia  coldly,  and  with- 
out stirring. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        205 

"  Ah !  I  forgot,"  continued  lone, — "  I  should  come 
to  thee ;  "  and  she  moved  along  the  benches  till  she 
reached  the  place  where  Nydia  sat,  and  flinging  her 
arms  caressingly  round  her,  covered  her  cheeks  with 
kisses. 

Nydia  was  that  morning  paler  than  her  wont,  and 
her  countenance  grew  even  more  wan  and  colourless 
as  she  submitted  to  the  embrace  of  the  beautiful  Nea- 
politan. "  But  how  earnest  thou,  Nydia,"  whispered 
lone,  "  to  surmise  so  faithfully  the  danger  I  was  ex- 
posed to  ?  Didst  thou  know  aught  of  the  Egyptian  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  knew  of  his  vices." 

"And  how?" 

"  Noble  lone,  I  have  been  a  slave  to  the  vicious — 
those  whom  I  served  were  his  minions." 

"  And  thou  hast  entered  his  house  since  thou  knew- 
est  so  well  that  private  entrance  ?  " 

"  I  have  played  on  my  lyre  to  Arbaces,"  answered 
the  Thessalian,  with  embarrassment. 

"  And  thou  hast  escaped  the  contagion  from  which 
thou  hast  saved  lone  ?  "  returned  the  Neapolitan,  in 
a  voice  too  low  for  the  ear  of  Glaucus. 

"Noble  lone,  I  have  neither  beauty  nor  station", 
I  am  a  child  and  a  slave,  and  blind.  The  despicable 
are  ever  safe." 

It  was  with  a  pained,  and  proud,  and  indignant  tone 
that  Nydia  made  this  humble  reply;  and  lone  felt 
that  she  only  wounded  Nydia  by  pursuing  the  sub- 
ject. She  remained  silent,  and  the  bark  now  floated 
into  the  sea. 

"  Confess  that  I  was  right,  lone,"  said  Glaucus, 
"  in  prevailing  on  thee  not  to  waste  this  beautiful 
noon  in  thy  chamber — confess  that  I  was  right." 

"  Thou  wert  right,  Glaucus,"  said  Nydia,  abruptly. 


206        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  The  dear  child  speaks  for  thee,"  returned  the 
Athenian.  "  But  permit  me  to  move  opposite  to 
thee,  or  our  light  boat  will  be  overbalanced." 

So  saying,  he  took  his  seat  exactly  opposite  to 
lone,  and  leaning  forward,  he  fancied  that  it  was  her 
breath,  and  not  the  winds  of  summer  that  flung  fra- 
grance over  the  sea. 

"  Thou  wert  to  tell  me,"  said  Glaucus,  "  why  for  so 
many  days  thy  door  was  closed  to  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  think  of  it  no  more !  "  answered  lone,  quick- 
ly;  "I  gave  my  ear  to  what  I  now  know  was  the 
malice  of  slander." 

"  And  my  slanderer  was  the  Egyptian  ?  " 

lone's  silence  assented  to  the  question. 

"  His  motives  are  sufficiently  obvious." 

"  Talk  not  of  him,"  said  lone,  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands,  as  if  to  shut  out  his  very  thought. 

"  Perhaps  he  may  be  already  by  the  banks  of  the 
slow  Styx,"  resumed  Glaucus ;  "  yet  in  that  case  we 
should  probably  have  heard  of  his  death.  Thy 
brother,  methinks,  hath  felt  the  dark  influence  of  his 
,  gloomy  soul.  When  we  arrived  last  night  at  thy 
house  he  left  me  abruptly.  Will  he  ever  vouchsafe 
to  be  my  friend  ?  " 

"  He  is  consumed  with  some  secret  care,"  answered 
lone,  tearfully.  "  Would  that  we  could  lure  him  from 
himself!  Let  us  join  in  that  tender  office." 

"  He  shall  be  my  brother,"  returned  the  Greek. 

"  How  calmly,"  said  lone,  rousing  herself  from  the 
gloom  into  which  her  thoughts  of  Apsecides  had 
plunged  her — "  how  calmly  the  clouds  seem  to  repose 
in  heaven ;  and  yet  you  tell  me,  for  I  knew  it  not  my- 
self, that  the  earth  shook  beneath  us  last  night." 

"  It  did,  and  more  violently,  they  say,  than  it  has 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         207 

done  since  the  great  convulsion  sixteen  yeSrs  ago. 
The  land  we  live  in  yet  nurses  mysterious  terror ;  and 
the  reign  of  Pluto,  which  spreads  beneath  our  burn- 
ing fields,  seems  rent  with  unseen  commotion.  Didst 
thou  not  feel  the  earth  quake,  Nydia,  where  thou  wert 
seated  last  night  ?  and  was  it  not  the  fear  that  it  oc- 
casioned thee  that  made  thee  weep?" 

"  I  felt  the  soil  creep  and  heave  beneath  me,  like 
some  monstrous  serpent,"  answered  Nydia ;  "  but  as 
I  saw  nothing,  I  did  not  fear :  I  imagined  the  convul- 
sion to  be  a  spell  of  the  Egyptian's.  They  say  he  has 
power  over  the  elements." 

"  Thou  art  a  Thessalian,  my  Nydia,"  replied  Glau- 
cus,  "  and  hast  a  national  right  to  believe  in  magic." 

"  Magic ! — who  doubts  it  ?  "  answered  Nydia,  sim- 
ply :  "  dost  thou  ?  " 

"  Until  last  night  (when  a  necromantic  prodigy  did 
indeed  appall  me),  methinks  I  was  not  credulous  in 
any  other  magic  save  that  of  love !  "  said  Glaucus,  in 
a  tremulous  voice,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  lone. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Nydia,  with  a  sort  of  shiver,  and  she 
awoke  mechanically  a  few  pleasing  notes  from  her 
lyre ;  the  sound  suited  well  the  tranquillity  of  the  wa- 
ters, and  the  sunny  stillness  of  the  noon. 

"  Play  to  us,  dear  Nydia,"  said  Glaucus, — "  play, 
and  give  us  one  of  thine  old  Thessalian  songs: 
whether  it  be  of  magic  or  not,  as  thou  wilt — let  it,  at 
least,  be  of  love !  " 

"  Of  love !  "  repeated  Nydia,  raising  her  large,  wan- 
dering eyes,  that  ever  thrilled  those  who  saw  them 
with  a  mingled  fear  and  pity;  you  could  never  fa- 
miliarise yourself  to  their  aspect:  so  strange  did  it 
seem  that  those  dark  wild  orbs  were  ignorant  of  the 
day,  and  either  so  fixed  was  their  deep  mysterious 


208        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

gaze,  or  so  restless  and  perturbed  their  glance,  that 
you  felt,  when  you  encountered  them,  that  same 
vague,  and  chilling,  and  half-preternatural  impression, 
which  comes  over  you  in  the  presence  of  the  insane, 
— of  those  who,  having  a  life  outwardly  like  your  own, 
have  a  life  within  life — dissimilar — unsearchable — 
unguessed ! 

"  Will  you  that  I  should  sing  of  love  ?  "  said  she, 
fixing  those  eyes  upon  Glaucus. 
"  Yes,"  replied  he-,  looking  down. 
She  moved  a  little  way  from  the  arm  of  lone,  still 
cast  round  her,  as  if  that  soft  embrace  embarrassed ; 
and  placing  her  light  and  graceful  instrument  on  her 
knee,  after  a  short  prelude,  she  sang  the  following 
strain : — 

NYDIA'S  LOVE-SONG 

i. 
"  The  Wind  and  the  Beam  loved  the  Rose, 

And  the  Rose  loved  one ; 
For  who  recks  the  wind  where  it  blows? 
Or  loves  not  the  sun? 

n. 
"  None  knew  whence  the  humble  Wind  stole, 

Poor  sport  of  the  skies — 
None  dreamt  that  the  Wind  had  a  soul, 
In  its  mournful  sighs ! 

in. 
"  Oh,  happy  Beam !  how  canst  thou  prove 

That  bright  love  of  thine? 
In  thy  light  is  the  proof  of  thy  love, 
Thou  hast  but — to  shine  ! 

IV. 

"  How  its  love  can  the  Wind  reveal  ? 

Unwelcome  its  sigh; 
Mute — mute  to  its  Rose  let  it  steal- 
Its  proof  is — to  die !  " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        209 

"  Thou  singest  but  sadly,  sweet  girl,"  said  Glaucus ; 
"  thy  youth  only  feels  as  yet  the  dark  shadow  of  Love ; 
far  other  inspiration  doth  he  wake  when  he  himself 
bursts  and  brightens  upon  us." 

"  I  sing  as  I  was  taught,"  replied  Nydia,  sighing. 

"  Thy  master  was  love-crossed  then — try  thy  hand 
at  a  gayer  air.  Nay,  girl,  give  the  instrument  to  me." 
As  Nydia  obeyed,  her  hand  touched  his,  and  with 
that  slight  touch,  her  breast  heaved — her  cheek 
flushed.  lone  and  Glaucus,  occupied  with  each 
other,  perceived  not  those  signs  of  strange  and  pre- 
mature emotions,  which  preyed  upon  a  heart  that, 
nourished  by  imagination,  dispensed  with  hope. 

And  now,  broad,  blue,  bright  before  them,  spread 
that  halcyon  sea,  fair  as  at  this  moment,  seventeen 
centuries  from  that  date,  I  behold  it  rippling  on  the 
same  divinest  shores.  Clime  that  yet  enervates  with 
a  soft  and  Circean  spell — that  moulds  us  insensibly, 
mysteriously,  into  harmony  with  thyself,  banishing 
the  thought  of  austerer  labour,  the  voices  of  wild  am- 
bition, the  contests  and  the  roar  of  life ;  filling  us  with 
gentle  and  subduing  dreams,  making  necessary  to 
our  nature  that  which  is  its  least  earthly  portion,  so 
that  the  very  air  inspires  us  with  the  yearning  and 
thirst  of  love.  Whoever  visits  thee  seems  to  leave 
earth  and  its  harsh  cares  behind — to  enter  by  the 
Ivory  Gate  into  the  Land  of  Dreams.  The  young 
and  laughing  hours  of  the  PRESENT — the  Hours,  those 
children  of  Saturn,  which  he  hungers  ever  to  devour, 
seem  snatched  from  his  grasp.  The  past — the  future 
— are  forgotten ;  we  enjoy  but  the  breathing  time. 
Flower  of  the  world's  garden — Fountain  of  Delight 
— Italy  of  Italy — beautiful,  benign  Campania! — vain 
14 


210        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

were,  indeed,  the  Titans,  if  on  this  spot  they  yet 
struggled  for  another  heaven !  Here,  if  God  meant 
this  working-day  life  for  a  perpetual  holiday,  who 
would  not  sigh  to  dwell  for  ever — asking  nothing, 
hoping  nothing,  fearing  nothing,  while  thy  skies 
shone  over  him — while  thy  seas  sparkled  at  his  feet 
— while  thine  air  brought  him  sweet  messages  from 
the  violet  and  the  orange — and  while  the  heart,  re- 
signed to — beating  with — but  one  emotion,  could  find 
the  lips  and  the  eyes,  which  flatter  it  (vanity  of  van- 
ities !)  that  love  can  defy  custom,  and  be  eternal  ? 

It  was  then  in  this  clime — on  those  seas,  that  the 
Athenian  gazed  upon  a  face  that  might  have  suited 
the  nymph,  the  spirit  of  the  place:  feeding  his  eyes 
on  the  changeful  roses  of  that  softest  cheek,  happy 
beyond  the  happiness  of  common  life,  loving,  and 
knowing  himself  beloved. 

In  the  tale  of  human  passion,  in  past  ages,  there 
is  something  of  interest  even  in  the  remoteness  of  the 
time.  We  love  to  feel  within  us  the  bond  which 
unites  the  most  distant  eras — men,  nations,  customs 
perish;  THE  AFFECTIONS  ARE  IMMORTAL! — they  are  the 
sympathies  which  unite  the  ceaseless  generations. 
The  past  lives  again,  when  we  look  upon  its  emotions 
— it  lives  in  our  own !  That  which  was,  ever  is !  The 
magician's  gift  that  revives  the  dead — that  animates 
the  dust  of  forgotten  graves,  is  not  in  the  author's 
skill — it  is  in  the  heart  of  the  reader ! 

Still  vainly  seeking  the  eyes  of  lone,  as,  half  down- 
cast, half  averted,  they  shunned  his  own,  the  Athe- 
nian, in  a  low  and  soft  voice,  thus  expressed  the  feel- 
ings inspired  by  happier  thoughts  than  those  which 
had  coloured  the  song  of  Nydia. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        211 
THE  SONG  OF  GLAUCUS 


"  As  the  bark  floateth  on  o'er  the  summer-lit  sea, 
Floats  my  heart  o'er  the  deeps  of  its  passion  for  thee : 
All  lost  in  the  space,  without  terror  it  glides, 
For  bright  with  thy  soul  is  the  face  of  the  tides. 
Now  heaving,  now  hush'd,  is  that  passionate  ocean, 

As  it  catches  thy  smile  or  thy  sighs ; 
And  the  twin-stars1  that  shine  on  the  wanderer's  devotion, 

Its  guide  and  its  god — are  thine  eyes ! 

ii. 

"  The  bark  may  go  down,  should  the  cloud  sweep  above 
For  its  being  is  bound  to  the  light  of  thy  love. 
As  thy  faith  and  thy  smile  are  its  life  and  its  joy, 
So  thy  frown  or  thy  change  are  the  storms  that  destroy. 
Ah !  sweeter  to  sink  while  the  sky  is  serene, 

If  time  hath  a  change  for  thy  heart ! 
If  to  live  be  to  weep  over  what  thou  hast  been, 

Let  me  die  while  I  know  what  thou  art !  " 

As  the  last  words  of  the  song  trembled  over  the 
sea,  lone  raised  her  looks, — they  met  those  of  her 
lover.  Happy  Nydia ! — happy  in  thy  affliction,  that 
thou  couldst  not  see  that  fascinated  and  charmed  gaze, 
that  said  so  much — that  made  the  eye  the  voice  of 
the  soul — that  promised  the  impossibility  of  change ! 

But,  though  the  Thessalian  could  not  detect  that 
gaze,  she  divined  its  meaning  by  their  silence — by 
their  sighs.  She  pressed  her  hands  tightly  across 
her  breast,  as  if  to  keep  down  its  bitter  and  jealous 
thoughts ;  and  then  she  hastened  to  speak — for  that 
silence  was  intolerable  to  her. 

"  After  all,  O  Glaucus !  "  said  she,  "  there  is  nothing 
very  mirthful  in  your  strain !  " 

1  In  allusion  to  the  Dioscuri,  or  twin-stars,  the  guardian 
deity  of  the  seamen. 


212        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Yet  I  meant  it  to  be  so,  when  I  took  up  thy  lyre, 
pretty  one.  Perhaps  happiness  will  not  permit  us  to 
be  mirthful." 

"  How  strange  is  it,"  said  lone,  changing  a  con- 
versation which  oppressed  her  while  it  charmed, — 
"  that  for  the  last  several  days  yonder  cloud  has  hung 
motionless  over  Vesuvius !  Yet  not  indeed  motion- 
less, for  sometimes  it  changes  its  form ;  and  now  me- 
thinks  it  looks  like  some  vast  giant  with  an  arm  out- 
stretched over  the  city.  Dost  thou  see  the  likeness 
— or  is  it  only  to  my  fancy?  " 

"  Fair  lone !  I  see  it  also.  It  is  astonishingly 
distinct.  The  giant  seems  seated  on  the  brow  of  the 
mountain,  the  different  shades  of  the  cloud  appear  to 
form  a  white  robe  that  sweeps  over  its  vast  breast 
and  limbs;  it  seems  to  gaze  with  a  steady  face  upon 
the  city  below,  to  point  with  one  hand,  as  thou  sayest, 
over  its  glittering  streets,  and  to  raise  the  other  (dost 
thou  note  it?)  towards  the  higher  heaven.  It  is  like 
the  ghost  of  some  huge  Titan  brooding  over  the 
beautiful  world  he  lost;  sorrowful  for  the  past — yet 
with  something  of  menace  for  the  future." 

"  Could  that  mountain  have  any  connection  with  the 
last  night's  earthquake?  They  say  that,  ages  ago,  al- 
most in  the  earliest  era  of  tradition,  it  gave  forth  fires 
as  JEtna.  still.  Perhaps  the  flames  yet  lurk  and  dart 
beneath." 

"  It  is  possible,"  said  Glaucus,  musingly. 

"  Thou  sayest  thou  art  slow  to  believe  in  magic," 
said  Nydia  suddenly.  "  I  have  heard  that  a  potent  witch 
dwells  amongst  the  scorched  caverns  of  the  mountain, 
and  yon  cloud  may  be  the  dim  shadow  of  the  demon 
she  confers  with." 

"  Thou  art  full  of  the  romance  of  thy  native  Thes- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        213 

saly,"  said  Glaucus ;  "  and  a  strange  mixture  of  sense 
and  all  conflicting  superstitions." 

"  We  are  ever  superstitious  in  the  dark,"  replied 
Nydia.  "  Tell  me,"  she  added,  after  a  slight  pause, 
"  tell  me,  O  Glaucus !  do  all  that  are  beautiful  resemble 
each  other?  They  say  you  are  beautiful,  and  lone  also. 
Are  your  faces  then  the  same  ?  I  fancy  not,  yet  it  ought 
to  be  so." 

"  Fancy  no  such  grievous  wrong  to  lone,"  answered 
Glaucus,  laughing.  "  But  we  do  not,  alas !  resemble 
each  other,  as  the  homely  and  the  beautiful  sometimes 
do.  lone's  hair  is  dark,  mine  light;  lone's  eyes  are — 
what  colour,  lone?  I  cannot  see,  turn  them  to  me. 
Oh,  are  they  black?  no,  they  are  too  soft.  Are  they 
blue  ?  no,  they  are  too  deep :  they  change  with  every 
ray  of  the  sun — I  know  not  their  colour:  but  mine, 
sweet  Nydia,  are  gray,  and  bright  only  when  lone 
shines  on  them  !  lone's  cheek  is " 

"  I  do  not  understand  one  word  of  thy  description," 
interrupted  Nydia,  peevishly.  "  I  comprehend  only 
that  you  do  not  resemble  each  other,  and  I  am  glad 
of  it." 

"Why,  Nydia?  "said  lone. 

Nydia  coloured  slightly.  "  Because,"  she  replied, 
coldly,  "  I  have  always  imagined  you  under  different 
forms,  and  one  likes  to  know  one  is  right." 

"  And  what  hast  thou  imagined  Glaucus  to  resem- 
ble? "  asked  lone,  softly. 

"  Music !  "  replied  Nydia,  looking  down. 

"  Thou  art  right,"  thought  lone. 

"  And  what  likeness  hast  thou  ascribed  to  lone  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  yet,"  answered  the  blind  girl ;  "  I  have 
not  yet  known  her  long  enough  to  find  a  shape  and  sign 
for  my  guesses." 


214        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  I  will  tell  thee,  then,"  said  Glaucus,  passionately ; 
"  she  is  like  the  sun  that  warms — like  the  wave  that 
refreshes." 

"  The  sun  sometimes  scorches,  and  the  wave  some- 
times drowns,"  answered  Nydia. 

"  Take  then  these  roses,"  said  Glaucus ;  "  let  their 
fragrance  suggest  to  thee  lone." 

"  Alas,  the  roses  will  fade ! "  said  the  Neapolitan, 
archly. 

Thus  conversing,  they  wore  away  the  hours;  the 
lovers,  conscious  only  of  the  brightness  and  smiles  of 
love;  the  blind  girl  feeling  only  its  darkness — its 
tortures; — the  fierceness  of  jealousy  and  its  woe! 

And  now,  as  they  drifted  on,  Glaucus  once  more  re- 
sumed the  lyre,  and  woke  its  strings  with  a  careless 
hand,  to  a  strain,  so  wildly  and  gladly  beautiful,  that 
even  Nydia  was  aroused  from  her  reverie,  and  uttered 
a  cry  of  admiration. 

"  Thou  seest,  my  child,"  cried  Glaucus,  "  that  I  can 
yet  redeem  the  character  of  love's  music,  and  that  I 
was  wrong  in  saying  happiness  could  not  be  gay.  Lis- 
ten, Nydia !  listen,  dear  lone !  and  hear 

THE  BIRTH   OF  LOVE1 

i. 

"  Like  a  Star  in  the  seas  above, 

Like  a  Dream  to  the  waves  of  sleep — 

Up — Up — THE  INCARNATE  LOVE — 

She  rose  from  the  charmed  deep ! 
And  over  the  Cyprian  Isle 
The  skies  shed  their  silent  smile; 
And  the  Forest's  green  heart  was  rife 
With  the  stir  of  the  gushing  life — 

1  Suggested  by  a  picture  of  Venus  rising  from  the  sea,  taken 
from  Pompeii,  and  now  in  the  Museum  at  Naples. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        215 

The  life  that  had  leap'd  to  'birth, 
In  the  veins  of  the  happy  earth ! 

Hail !  oh,  hail ! 
The  dimmest  sea-cave  below  thee, 

The  farthest  sky-arch  above, 
In  their  innermost  stillness  know  thee : 

And  heave  with  the  Birth  of  Love ! 
Gale  !  soft  Gale  ! 
Thou  comest  on  thy  silver  winglets, 

From  thy  home  in  the  tender  west;1 
Now  fanning  her  golden  ringlets, 

Now  hush'd  on  her  heaving  breast. 
And  afar  on  the  murmuring  sand, 
The  Seasons  wait  hand  in  hand 
To  welcome  thee,  Birth  Divine, 
To  the  earth  which  is  henceforth  thine. 


ii. 

"  Behold !  how  she  kneels  in  the  shell, 
Bright  pearl  in  its  floating  cell ! 
Behold !  how  the  shell's  rose-hues 

The  cheek  and  the  breast  of  snow, 
And  the  delicate  limbs  suffuse 

Like  a  blush,  with  a  bashful  glow. 
Sailing  on,  slowly  sailing 

O'er  the  wild  water; 
All  hail !  as  the  fond  light  is  hailing 

Her  daughter, 

All  hail ! 

We  are  thine,  all  thine  evermore: 
Not  a  leaf  on  the  laughing  shore, 
Not  a  wave  on  the  heaving  sea, 

Nor  a  single  sigh 

In  the  boundless  sky, 
But  is  vow'd  evermore  to  thee ! 

1  According  to  the  ancient  mythologists,  Venus  rose  from 
the  sea  near  Cyprus,  to  which  island  she  was  wafted  by  the 
Zephyrs.  The  Seasons  waited  to  welcome  her  on  the  sea- 
shore. 


216        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

in. 

"  And  thou,  my  beloved  one — thou, 
As  I  gaze  on  thy  soft  eyes  now, 
Methinks  from  their  depths  I  view, 
The  Holy  Birth  born  anew ; 
Thy  lids  are  the  gentle  cell 

Where  the  young  Love  blushing  lies; 
See !  she  breaks  from  the  mystic  shell, 

She  comes  from  thy  tender  eyes ! 

Hail!  all  hail! 

She  comes,  as  she  came  from  the  sea, 
To  my  soul  as  it  looks  on  thee; 
She  comes,  she  comes ! 
She  comes,  as  she  came  from  the  sea, 
To  my  soul  as  it  looks  on  thee ! 
Hail !  all  hail !  " 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   CONGREGATION. 

Followed  by  Apaecides,  the  Nazarene  gained  the 
side  of  the  Sarnus.  That  river,  which  now  has  shrunk 
into  a  petty  stream,  then  rushed  gaily  into  the  sea,  cov- 
ered with  countless  vessels,  and  reflecting  on  its  waves 
the  gardens,  the  vines,  the  palaces,  and  the  temples  of 
Pompeii.  From  its  more  noisy  and  frequented  banks, 
Olinthus  directed  his  steps  to  a  path  which  ran  amidst 
a  shady  vista  of  trees,  at  the  distance  of  a  few  paces 
from  the  river.  This  walk  was  in  the  evening  a  favour- 
ite resort  of  the  Pompeians,  but  during  the  heat  and 
business  of  the  day  was  seldom  visited,  save  by  some 
groups  of  playful  children,  some  meditative  poet,  or 
some  disputative  philosophers.  At  the  side  farthest 
from  the  river,  frequent  copses  of  box  interspersed 
the  more  delicate  and  evanescent  foliage,  and  these 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        217 

were  cut  into  a  thousand  quaint  shapes,  sometimes  into 
the  forms  of  fauns  and  satyrs,  sometimes  into  the 
mimicry  of  Egyptian  pyramids,  sometimes  into  the  let- 
ters that  composed  the  name  of  a  popular  or  eminent 
citizen.  Thus  the  false  taste  is  equally  ancient  as  the 
pure ;  and  the  retired  traders  of  Hackney  and  Padding- 
ton  a  century  ago,  were  little  aware,  perhaps,  that  in 
their  tortured  yews  and  sculptured  box,  they  found 
their  models  in  the  most  polished  period  of  Roman  an- 
tiquity, in  the  gardens  of  Pompeii,  and  the  villas  of  the 
fastidious  Pliny. 

This  walk  now,  as  the  noonday  sun  shone  perpen- 
dicularly through  the  checkered  leaves,  was  entirely 
deserted ;  at  least  no  other  forms  than  those  of  Olin- 
thus  and  the  priest  infringed  upon  the  solitude.  They 
sat  themselves  on  one  of  the  benches,  placed  at  inter- 
vals between  the  trees,  and  facing  the  faint  breeze  that 
came  languidly  from  the  river,  whose  waves  danced 
and  sparkled  before  them ; — a  singular  and  contrasted 
pair;  the  believer  in  the  latest — the  priest  of  the  most 
ancient — worship  of  the  world ! 

"  Since  thou  leftst  me  so  abruptly,"  said  Olinthus, 
"  hast  thou  been  happy  ?  has  thy  heart  found  content- 
ment under  these  priestly  robes  ?  hast  thou,  still  yearn- 
ing for  the  voice  of  God,  heard  it  whisper  comfort  to 
thee  from  the  oracles  of  Isis  ?  That  sigh,  that  averted 
countenance,  give  me  the  answer  my  soul  predicted." 

"  Alas !  "  answered  Apaecides,  sadly,  "  thou  seest  be- 
fore thee  a  wretched  and  distracted  man !  From  my 
childhood  upward  I  have  idolised  the  dreams  of  vir- 
tue !  I  have  envied  the  holiness  of  men  who,  in  caves 
and  lonely  temples,  have  been  admitted  to  the  com- 
panionship of  beings  above  the  world;  my  days  have 
been  consumed  with  feverish  and  vague  desires;  my 


218        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

nights  with  mocking  but  solemn  visions.  Seduced  by 
the  mystic  prophecies  of  an  impostor,  I  have  indued 
these  robes: — my  nature  (I  confess  it  to  thee  frankly) 
— my  nature  has  revolted  at  what  I  have  seen  and  been 
doomed  to  share  in!  Searching  after  truth,  I  have 
become  but  the  minister  of  falsehoods.  On  the  even- 
ing in  which  we  last  met,  I  was  buoyed  by  hopes 
created  by  that  same  impostor,  whom  I  ought  already 
to  have  better  known.  I  have — no  matter — no  mat- 
ter! suffice  it,  I  have  added  perjury  and  sin  to  rash- 
ness and  to  sorrow.  The  veil  is  now  rent  for  ever  from 
my  eyes ;  I  behold  a  villain  where  I  obeyed  a  demigod ; 
the  earth  darkens  in  my  sight;  I  am  in  the  deepest 
abyss  of  gloom ;  I  know  not  if  there  be  gods  above ; 
if  we  are  the  things  of  chance ;  if  beyond  the  bounded 
and  melancholy  present  there  is  annihilation  or  an 
hereafter — tell  me,  then,  thy  faith ;  solve  me  these 
doubts,  if  thou  hast  indeed  the  power !  " 

"  I  do  not  marvel,"  answered  the  Nazarene,  "  that 
thou  hast  thus  erred,  or  that  thou  art  thus  sceptic. 
Eighty  years  ago  there  was  no  assurance  to  man  of 
God,  or  of  a  certain  and  definite  future  beyond  the 
grave.  New  laws  are  declared  to  him  who  has  ears — 
a  heaven,  a  true  Olympus,  is  revealed  to  him  who  has 
eyes — heed  then,  and  listen." 

And  with  all  the  earnestness  of  man  believing  ar- 
dently himself,  and  zealous  to  convert,  the  Nazarene 
poured  forth  to  Apsecides  the  assurances  of  Scriptural 
promise.  He  spoke  first  of  the  sufferings  and  miracles 
of  Christ — he  wept  as  he  spoke :  he  turned  next  to  the 
glories  of  the  Saviour's  ascension — to  the  clear  pre- 
dictions of  Revelation.  He  described  that  pure  and 
unsensual  heaven  destined  to  the  virtuous — those  fires 
and  torments  that  were  the  doom  of  guilt. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        219 

The  doubts  which  spring  up  to  the  mind  of  later 
reasoners,  in  the  immensity  of  the  sacrifice  of  God  to 
man,  were  not  such  as  would  occur  to  an  early  heathen. 
He  had  been  accustomed  to  believe  that  the  gods  had 
lived  upon  earth,  and  taken  upon  themselves  the 
forms  of  men ;  had  shared  in  human  passions,  in  hu- 
man labours,  and  in  human  misfortunes.  What  was 
the  travail  of  his  own  Alcmena's  son,  whose  altars  now 
smoked  with  the  incense  of  countless  cities,  but  a  toil 
for  the  human  race?  Had  not  the  great  Dorian 
Apollo  expiated  a  mystic  sin  by  descending  to  the 
grave?  Those  who  were  the  deities  of  heaven  had 
been  the  lawgivers  or  benefactors  on  earth,  and  grati- 
tude had  led  to  worship.  It  seemed  therefore,  to  the 
heathen,  a  doctrine  neither  new  nor  strange,  that 
Christ  had  been  sent  from  heaven,  that  an  immortal 
had  indued  mortality,  and  tasted  the  bitterness  of 
death.  And  the  end  for  which  He  thus  toiled  and  thus 
suffered — how  far  more  glorious  did  it  seem  to  Apse- 
cides  than  that  for  which  the  deities  of  old  had  vis- 
ited the  nether  world,  and  passed  through  the  gates 
of  death !  Was  it  not  worthy  of  a  God  to  descend  to 
these  dim  valleys,  in  order  to  clear  up  the  clouds  gath- 
ered over  the  dark  mount  beyond — to  satisfy  the 
doubts  of  sages — to  convert  speculation  into  certainty 
— by  example  to  point  out  the  rules  of  life — by  revela- 
tion to  solve  the  enigma  of  the  grave — and  to  prove 
that  the  soul  did  not  yearn  in  vain  when  it  dreamed 
of  an  immortality?  In  this  last  was  the  great  argu- 
ment of  those  lowly  men  destined  to  convert  the  earth. 
As  nothing  is  more  flattering  to  the  pride  and  the 
hopes  of  man  than  the  belief  in  a  future  state,  so  noth- 
ing could  be  more  vague  and  confused  than  the  notions 
of  the  heathen  sages  upon  that  mystic  subject.  Apae- 


220        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

cides  had  already  learned  that  the  faith  of  the  philoso- 
phers was  not  that  of  the  herd;  that  if  they  secretly 
professed  a  creed  in  some  diviner  power,  it  was  not 
the  creed  which  they  thought  it  wise  to  impart  to  the 
community.  He  had  already  learned,  that  even  the 
priest  ridiculed  what  he  preached  to  the  people — that 
the  notions  of  the  few  and  the  many  were  never  united. 
But,  in  this  new  faith,  it  seemed  to  him  that  philoso- 
pher, priest,  and  people,  the  expounders  of  the  religion 
and  its  followers,  were  alike  accordant:  they  did  not 
speculate  and  debate  upon  immortality,  they  spoke  of 
it  as  a  thing  certain  and  assured ;  the  magnificence  of 
the  promise  dazzled  him — its  consolations  soothed. 
For  the  Christian  faith  made  its  early  converts  among 
sinners ;  many  of  its  fathers  and  its  martyrs  were  those 
who  had  felt  the  bitterness  of  vice,  and  who  were  there- 
fore no  longer  tempted  by  its  false  aspect  from  the 
paths  of  an  austere  and  uncompromising  virtue.  All 
the  assurances  of  this  healing  faith  invited  to  repent- 
ance— they  were  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  bruised  and 
sore  of  spirit;  the  very  remorse  which  Apaecides  felt 
for  his  late  excesses,  made  him  incline  to  one  who 
found  holiness  in  that  remorse,  and  who  whispered  of 
the  joy  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth. 

"  Come,"  said  the  Nazarene,  as  he  perceived  the 
effect  he  had  produced,  "  come  to  the  humble  hall  in 
which  we  meet — a  select  and  a  chosen  few ;  listen  there 
to  our  prayers ;  note  the  sincerity  of  our  repentant 
tears;  mingle  in  our  simple  sacrifice — not  of  victims, 
nor  of  garlands,  but  offered  by  white-robed  thoughts 
upon  the  altar  of  the  heart.  The  flowers  that  we  lay 
there  are  imperishable — they  bloom  over  us  when  we 
are  no  more;  nay,  they  accompany  us  beyond  the 
grave,  they  spring  up  beneath  our  feet  in  heaven,  they 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        221 

delight  us  with  an  eternal  odour,  for  they  are  of  the 
soul,  they  partake  of  its  nature;  these  offerings  are 
temptations  overcome,  and  sins  repented.  Come,  oh 
come !  lose  not  another  moment ;  prepare  already  for 
the  great,  the  awful  journey,  from  darkness  to  light, 
from  sorrow  to  bliss,  from  corruption  to  immortality ! 
This  is  the  day  of  the  Lord  the  Son,  a  day  that  we  have 
set  apart  for  our  devotions.  Though  we  meet  usually 
at  night,  yet  some  amongst  us  are  gathered  together 
even  now.  What  joy,  what  triumph,  will  be  with  us 
all,  if  we  can  bring  one  stray  lamb  into  the  sacred 
fold !  " 

There  seemed  to  Apaecides,  so  naturally  pure  of 
heart,  something  ineffably  generous  and  benign  in  that 
spirit  of  conversion  which  animated  Olinthus — a  spirit 
that  found  its  own  bliss  in  the  happiness  of  others — 
that  sought  in  its  wide  sociality  to  make  companions 
for  eternity.  He  was  touched,  softened,  and  subdued. 
He  was  not  in  that  mood  which  can  bear  to  be  left 
alone ;  curiosity,  too,  mingled  with  his  purer  stimu- 
lants— he  was  anxious  to  see  those  rites  of  which  so 
many  dark  and  contradictory  rumours  were  afloat. 
He  paused  a  moment,  looked  over  his  garb,  thought  of 
Arbaces,  shuddered  with  horror,  lifted  his  eyes  to  the 
broad  brow  of  the  Nazarene,  intent,  anxious,  watchful, 
— but  for  his  benefit,  for  his  salvation !  He  drew  his 
cloak  round  him,  so  as  wholly  to  conceal  his  robes,  and 
said,  "  Lead  on,  I  follow  thee." 

Olinthus  pressed  his  hand  joyfully,  and  then  de- 
scending to  the  river  side,  hailed  one  of  the  boats  that 
plied  there  constantly ;  they  entered  it ;  an  awning 
overhead,  while  it  sheltered  them  from  the  sun, 
screened  also  their  persons  from  observation :  they  rap- 
idly skimmed  the  wave.  From  one  of  the  boats  that 


222        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

passed  them  floated  a  soft  music,  and  its  prow  was 
decorated  with  flowers — it  was  gliding  towards  the  sea. 

"  So,"  said  Olinthus,  sadly,  "  unconscious  and  mirth- 
ful in  their  delusions,  sail  the  votaries  of  luxury  into 
the  great  ocean  of  storm  and  shipwreck !  we  pass  them, 
silent  and  unnoticed,  to  gain  the  land." 

Apsecides,  lifting  his  eyes,  caught  through  the  aper- 
ture in  the  awning  a  glimpse  of  the  face  of  one  of  the 
inmates  of  that  gay  bark — it  was  the  face  of  lone. 
The  lovers  were  embarked  on  the  excursion  at  which 
we  have  been  made  present.  The  priest  sighed,  and 
once  more  sank  back  upon  his  seat.  They  reached  the 
shore  where,  in  the  suburbs,  an  alley  of  small  and  mean 
houses  stretched  towards  the  bank ;  they  dismissed  the 
boat,  landed,  and  Olinthus,  preceding  the  priest, 
threaded  the  labyrinth  of  lanes,  and  arrived  at  last  at 
the  closed  door  of  a  habitation  somewhat  larger  than 
its  neighbours.  He  knocked  thrice — the  door  was 
opened  and  closed  again,  as  Apsecides  followed  his 
guide  across  the  threshold. 

They  passed  a  deserted  atrium,  and  gained  an  inner 
chamber  of  moderate  size,  which,  when  the  door  was 
closed,  received  its  only  light  from  a  small  window  cut 
over  the  door  itself.  But,  halting  at  the  threshold  of 
this  chamber,  and  knocking  at  the  door,  Olinthus  said, 
"  Peace  be  with  you !  "  A  voice  from  within  returned, 
"Peace  with  whom?"  "The  faithful!"  answered 
Olinthus,  and  the  door  opened ;  twelve  or  fourteen  per- 
sons were  sitting  in  a  semi-circle,  silent,  and  seemingly 
absorbed  in  thought,  and  opposite  to  a  crucifix  rudely 
carved  in  wood. 

They  lifted  up  their  eyes  when  Olinthus  entered, 
without  speaking ;  the  Nazarene  himself,  before  he  ac- 
costed them,  knelt  suddenly  down,  and  by  his  moving 


I 
THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        223 

lips,  and  his  eyes  fixed  steadfastly  on  the  crucifix,  Apae- 
cides  saw  that  he  prayed  inly.  This  rite  performed, 
Olinthus  turned  to  the  congregation — "  Men  and 
brethren,"  said  he,  "  start  not  to  behold  amongst  you 
a  priest  of  Isis;  he  hath  sojourned  with  the  blind,  but 
the  Spirit  hath  fallen  on  him — he  desires  to  see,  to  hear, 
and  to  understand." 

"  Let  him,"  said  one  of  the  assembly ;  and  Apaecides 
beheld  in  the  speaker  a  man  still  younger  than  him- 
self, of  a  countenance  equally  worn  and  pallid,  of  an 
eye  which  equally  spoke  of  the  restless  and  fiery  opera- 
tions of  a  working  mind. 

"  Let  him,"  repeated  a  second  voice,  and  he  who  thus 
spoke  was  in  the  prime  of  manhood ;  his  bronzed  skin 
and  Asiatic  features  bespoke  him  a  son  of  Syria — he 
had  been  a  robber  in  his  youth. 

"  Let  him,"  said  a  third  voice ;  and  the  priest,  again 
turning  to  regard  the  speaker,  saw  an  old  man  with  a 
long  grey  beard  whom  he  recognised  as  a  slave  to  the 
wealthy  Diomed. 

"  Let  him,"  repeated  simultaneously  the  rest — men 
who,  with  two  exceptions,  were  evidently  of  the  in- 
ferior ranks.  In  these  exceptions,  Apaecides  noted  an 
officer  of  the  guard,  and  an  Alexandrian  merchant. 

"  We  do  not,"  recommenced  Olinthus — "  we  do  not 
bind  you  to  secrecy;  we  impose  on  you  no  oaths  (as 
some  of  our  weaker  brethren  would  do)  not  to  betray 
us.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  there  is  no  absolute  law 
against  us ;  but  the  multitude,  more  savage  than  their 
rulers,  thirst  for  our  lives.  So,  my  friends,  when 
Pilate  would  have  hesitated,  it  was  th$  people  who 
shouted  '  Christ  to  the  Cross ! '  But  we  bind  you  not 
to  our  safety — no !  Betray  us  to  the  crowd — impeach, 
calumniate,  malign  us  if  you  will :  we  are  above  death, 


224        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

we  should  walk  cheerfully  to  the  den  of  the  lion,  or 
the  rack  of  the  torturer — we  can  trample  down  the 
darkness  of  the  grave,  and  what  is  death  to  a  criminal 
is  eternity  to  the  Christian." 

A  low  and  applauding  murmur  ran  through  the  as- 
sembly. 

"  Thou  comest  amongst  us  as  an  examiner,  mayest 
thou  remain  a  convert !  Our  religion  ?  you  behold  it ! 
Yon  cross  our  sole  image,  yon  scroll  the  mysteries  of 
our  Caere  and  Eleusis!  Our  morality?  it  is  in  our 
lives ! — sinners  we  all  have  been ;  who  now  can  accuse 
us  of  a  crime?  we  have  baptised  ourselves  from  the 
past.  Think  not  that  this  is  of  us,  it  is  of  God.  Ap- 
proach, Medon,"  beckoning  to  the  old  slave  who  had 
spoken  third  for  the  admission  of  Apaecides,  "  thou  art 
the  sole  man  amongst  us  who  is  not  free.  But  in 
heaven,  the  last  shall  be  first :  so  with  us.  Unfold  your 
scroll,  read  and  explain." 

Useless  would  it  be  for  us  to  accompany  the  lecture 
of  Medon,  or  the  comments  of  the  congregation.  Fa- 
miliar now  are  those  doctrines,  then  strange  and  new. 
Eighteen  centuries  have  left  us  little  to  expound  upon 
the  lore  of  Scripture  or  the  life  of  Christ.  To  us,  too, 
there  would  seem  little  congenial  in  the  doubts  that  oc- 
curred to  a  heathen  priest,  and  little  learned  in  the  an- 
swers they  receive  from  men  uneducated,  rude,  and 
simple,  possessing  only  the  knowledge  that  they  were 
greater  than  they  seemed. 

There  was  one  thing  that  greatly  touched  the  Nea- 
politan. When  the  lecture  was  concluded,  they  heard 
a  very  gentle  knock  at  the  door;  the  password  was 
given,  and  replied  to ;  the  door  opened,  and  two  young 
children,  the  eldest  of  whom  might  have  told  its 
seventh  year,  entered  timidly;  they  were  the  children 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        225 

of  the  master  of  the  house,  that  dark  and  hardy  Syrian, 
whose  youth  had  been  spent  in  pillage  and  bloodshed. 
The  eldest  of  the  congregation  (it  was  that  old  slave) 
opened  to  them  his  arms;  they  fled  to  the  shelter — 
they  crept  to  his  breast — and  his  hard  features  smiled 
as  he  caressed  them.  And  then  these  bold  and  fervent 
men,  nursed  in  vicissitude,  beaten  by  the  rough  winds 
of  life — men  of  mailed  and  impervious  fortitude,  ready 
to  affront  a  world,  prepared  for  torment  and  armed 
for  death — men,  who  presented  all  imaginable  contrast 
to  the  weak  nerves,  the  light  hearts,  the  tender  fra- 
gility of  childhood,  crowded  round  the  infants,  smooth- 
ing their  rugged  brows  and  composing  their  bearded 
lips  to  kindly  and  fostering  smiles ;  and  then  the  old 
man  opened  the  scroll,  and  he  taught  the  infants  to  re- 
peat after  him  that  beautiful  prayer  which  we  still 
dedicate  to  the  Lord,  and  still  teach  to  our  children; 
and  then  he  told  them,  in  simple  phrase,  of  God's  love 
to  the  young,  and  how  not  a  sparrow  falls  but  His  eye 
sees  it.  This  lovely  custom  of  infant  initiation  was 
long  cherished  by  the  early  Church,  in  memory  of  the 
words  which  said,  "  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto 
me,  and  forbid  them  not ;  "  and  was  perhaps  the  origin 
of  the  superstitious  calumny  which  ascribed  to  the 
Nazarenes  the  crime  which  the  Nazarene,  when  vic- 
torious, attributed  to  the  Jew,  viz.  the  decoying  chil- 
dren to  hideous  rites,  at  which  they  were  secretly  im- 
molated. 

And  the  stern  paternal  penitent  seemed  to  feel  in  the 
innocence  of  his  children  a  return  into  early  life — life 
ere  yet  it  sinned:  he  followed  the  motion  of  their 
young  lips  with  an  earnest  gaze ;  he  smiled  as  they  re- 
peated, with  hushed  and  reverent  looks,  the  holy 
words;  and  when  the  lesson  was  done,  and  they  ran, 


226        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

released,  and  gladly  to  his  knee,  he  clasped  them  to  his 
breast,  kissed  them  again  and  again,  and  tears  flowed 
fast  down  his  cheek — tears,  of  which  it  would  have 
been  impossible  to  trace  the  source,  so  mingled  they 
were  with  joy  and  sorrow,  penitence  and  hate — remorse 
for  himself  and  love  for  them ! 

Something,  I  say,  there  was  in  this  scene  which 
peculiarly  affected  Apaecides;  and,  in  truth,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  conceive  a  ceremony  more  appropriate  to  the 
religion  of  benevolence,  more  appealing  to  the  house- 
hold and  every-day  affections,  striking  a  more  sensi- 
tive chord  in  the  human  breast. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  an  inner  door  opened  gently, 
and  a  very  old  man  entered  the  chamber,  leaning  on  a 
staff.  At  his  presence,  the  whole  congregation  rose; 
there  was  an  expression  of  deep  affectionate  respect 
upon  every  countenance ;  and  Apaecides,  gazing  on  his 
countenance,  felt  attracted  towards  him  by  an  irresis- 
tible sympathy.  No  man  ever  looked  upon  that  face 
without  love;  for  there  had  dwelt  the  smile  of  the 
Deity,  the  incarnation  of  divinest  love ; — and  the  glory 
of  the  smile  had  never  passed  away. 

"  My  children,  God  be  with  you !  "  said  the  old  man, 
stretching  his  arms ;  and  as  he  spoke  the  infants  ran  to 
his  knee.  He  sat  down,  and  they  nestled  fondly  to  his 
bosom.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  that  mingling  of  the 
extremes  of  life — the  rivers  gushing  from  their  early 
source — the  majestic  stream  gliding  to  the  ocean  of 
eternity!  As  the  light  of  declining  day  seems  to 
mingle  earth  and  heaven,  making  the  outline  of  each 
scarce  visible,  and  blending  the  harsh  mountain-tops 
with  the  sky,  even  so  did  the  smile  of  that  benign  old 
age  appear  to  hallow  the  aspect  of  those  around,  to 
blend  together  the  strong  distinctions  of  varying  years, 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        227 

and  to  diffuse  over  infancy  and  manhood  the  light  of 
that  heaven  into  which  it  must  so  soon  vanish  and  be 
lost. 

"  Father,"  said  Olinthus,  "  thou  on  whose  form  the 
miracle  of  the  Redeemer  worked ;  thou  who  wert 
snatched  from  the  grave  to  become  the  living  witness 
of  His  mercy  and  His  power ;  behold !  a  stranger  in  our 
meeting — a  new  lamb  gathered  to  the  fold !  " 

"  Let  me  bless  him,"  said  the  old  man ;  the  throng 
gave  way.  Apaecides  approached  him  as  by  an  in- 
stinct: he  fell  on  his  knees  before  him — the  old  man 
laid  his  hand  on  the  priest's  head,  and  blessed  him,  but 
not  aloud.  As  his  lips  moved,  his  eyes  were  upturned, 
and  tears — those  tears  that  good  men  only  shed  in  the 
hope  of  happiness  to  another — flowed  fast  down  his 
cheeks. 

The  children  were  on  either  side  of  the  convert ;  his 
heart  was  theirs — he  had  become  as  one  of  them — to 
enter  into  the  kingdom  of  Heaven. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE   STREAM    OF   LOVE   RUNS   ON WHITHER? 

Days  are  like  years  in  the  love  of  the  young,  when 
no  bar,  no  obstacle,  is  between  their  hearts — when  the 
sun  shines,  and  the  course  runs  smooth — when  their 
love  is  prosperous  and  confessed.  lone  no  longer  con- 
cealed from  Glaucus  the  attachment  she  felt  for  him, 
and  their  talk  now  was  only  of  their  love.  Over  the 
rapture  of  the  present  the  hopes  of  the  future  glowed 
like  the  heaven  above  the  gardens  of  spring.  They 
went  in  their  trustful  thoughts  far  down  the  stream  of 


228        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

time ;  they  laid  out  the  chart  of  their  destiny  to  come ; 
they  suffered  the  light  of  to-day  to  suffuse  the  mor- 
row. In  the  youth  of  their  hearts  it  seemed  as  if  care, 
and  change,  and  death,  were  as  things  unknown.  Per- 
haps they  loved  each  other  the  more  because  the  con- 
dition of  the  world  left  to  Glaucus  no  aim  and  no  wish 
but  love;  because  the  distractions  common  in  free 
states  to  men's  affections  existed  not  for  the  Athenian  ; 
because  his  country  wooed  him  not  to  the  bustle  of 
civil  life;  because  ambition  furnished  no  counterpoise 
to  love:  and,  therefore,  over  their  schemes  and  their 
projects,  love  only  reigned.  In  the  iron  age  they  im- 
agined themselves  of  the  golden,  doomed  only  to  live 
and  to  love. 

To  the  superficial  observer,  who  interests  himself 
only  in  characters  strongly  marked  and  broadly  col- 
oured, both  the  lovers  may  seem  of  too  slight  and  com- 
monplace a  mould:  in  the  delineation  of  characters 
purposely  subdued,  the  reader  sometimes  imagines  that 
there  is  a  want  of  character ;  perhaps,  indeed,  I  wrong 
the  real  nature  of  these  two  lovers  by  not  painting  more 
impressively  their  stronger  individualities.  But  in 
dwelling  so  much  on  their  bright  and  bird-like  exist- 
ence, I  am  influenced  almost  insensibly  by  the  fore- 
thought of  the  changes  that  await  them,  and  for  which 
they  were  so  ill  prepared.  It  was  this  very  softness  and 
gaiety  of  life  that  contrasted  most  strongly  the  vicis- 
situdes of  their  coming  fate.  For  the  oak  without  fruit 
or  blossom,  whose  hard  and  rugged  heart  is  fitted  for 
the  storm,  there  is  less  fear  than  for  the  delicate 
branches  of  the  myrtle,  and  the  laughing  clusters  of  the 
vine. 

They  had  now  advanced  far  into  August — the  next 
month  their  marriage  was  fixed,  and  the  threshold  of 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        229 

Glaucus  was  already  wreathed  with  garlands;  and 
nightly,  by  the  door  of  lone,  he  poured  forth  the  rich 
libations.  He  existed  no  longer  for  his  gay  compan- 
ions; he  was  ever  with  lone.  In  the  mornings  they 
beguiled  the  sun  with  music :  in  the  evenings  they  for- 
sook the  crowded  haunts  of  the  gay  for  excursions  on 
the  water,  or  along  the  fertile  and  vine-clad  plains  that 
lay  beneath  the  fatal  mount  of  Vesuvius.  The  earth 
shook  no  more ;  the  lively  Pompeians  forgot  even  that 
there  had  gone  forth  so  terrible  a  warning  of  their  ap- 
proaching doom.  Glaucus  imagined  that  convulsion, 
in  the  vanity  of  his  heathen  religion,  an  especial  inter- 
position of  the  gods,  less  in  behalf  of  his  own  safety 
than  that  of  lone.  He  offered  up  the  sacrifices  of  grati- 
tude at  the  temples  of  his  faith ;  and  even  the  altar  of 
Isis  was  covered  with  his  votive  garlands ; — as  to  the 
prodigy  of  the  animated  marble,  he  blushed  at  the  effect 
it  had  produced  on  him.  He  believed  it,  indeed,  to  have 
been  wrought  by  the  magic  of  man ;  but  the  result  con- 
vinced him  that  it  betokened  not  the  anger  of  a  god- 
dess. 

Of  Arbaces,  they  heard  only  that  he  still  lived; 
stretched  on  the  bed  of  suffering,  he  recovered  slowly 
from  the  effect  of  the  shock  he  had  sustained ;  he  left 
the  lovers  unmolested — but  it  was  only  to  brood  over 
the  hour  and  the  method  of  revenge. 

Alike  in  their  mornings  at  the  house  of  lone,  and  in 
their  evening  excursions,  Nydia  was  usually  their  con- 
stant, and  often  their  sole  companion.  They  did  not 
guess  the  secret  fires  which  consumed  her :  the  abrupt 
freedom  with  which  she  mingled  in  their  conversation 
— her  capricious  and  often  her  peevish  moods  found 
ready  indulgence  in  the  recollection  of  the  service  they 
owed  her,  and  their  compassion  for  her  affliction.  They 


230        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

felt  an  interest  in  her,  perhaps  the  greater  and  more 
affectionate  from  the  very  strangeness  and  wayward- 
ness of  her  nature,  her  singular  alternations  of  pas- 
sion and  softness — the  mixture  of  ignorance  and  genius 
— of  delicacy  and  rudeness — of  the  quick  humours  of 
the  child,  and  the  proud  calmness  of  the  woman.  Al- 
though she  refused  to  accept  of  freedom,  she  was  con- 
stantly suffered  to  be  free ;  she  went  where  she  listed : 
no  curb  was  put  either  on  her  words  or  actions;  they 
felt  for  one  so  darkly  fated,  and  so  susceptible  of  every 
wound,  the  same  pitying  and  compliant  indulgence  the 
mother  feels  for  a  spoiled  and  sickly  child, — dreading 
to  impose  authority,  even  where  they  imagined  it  for 
her  benefit.  She  availed  herself  of  this  license  by  re- 
fusing the  companionship  of  the  slave  whom  they 
wished  to  attend  her.  With  the  slender  staff  by  which 
she  guided  her  steps,  she  went  now,  as  in  her  former 
unprotected  state,  along  the  populous  streets:  it  was 
almost  miraculous  to  perceive  how  quickly  and  how 
dexterously  she  threaded  every  crowd,  avoiding  every 
danger,  and  could  find  her  benighted  way  through  the 
most  intricate  windings  of  the  city.  But  her  chief  de- 
light was  still  in  visiting  the  few  feet  of  ground  which 
made  the  garden  of  Glaucus ; — in  tending  the  flowers 
that  at  least  repaid  her  love.  Sometimes  she  entered 
the  chamber  where  he  sat,  and  sought  a  conversation, 
which  she  nearly  always  broke  off  abruptly — for  con- 
versation with  Glaucus  only  tended  to  one  subject — 
lone;  and  that  name  from  his  lips  inflicted  agony  upon 
her.  Often  she  bitterly  repented  the  service  she  had 
rendered  to  lone ;  often  she  said  inly,  "  If  she  had 
fallen,  Glaucus  could  have  loved  her  no  longer ;  "  and 
then  dark  and  fearful  thoughts  crept  into  her  breast. 
She  had  not  experienced  fully  the  trials  that  were  in 


231 

store  for  her,  when  she  had  been  thus  generous.  She 
had  never  before  been  present  when  Glaucus  and  lone 
were  together ;  she  had  never  heard  that  voice  so  kind 
to  her,  so  much  softer  to  another.  The  shock  that 
crushed  her  heart  with  the  tidings  that  Glaucus  loved, 
had  at  first  only  saddened  and  benumbed ; — by  degrees 
jealousy  took  a  wilder  and  fiercer  shape;  it  partook  of 
hatred — it  whispered  revenge.  As  you  see  the  wind 
only  agitate  the  green  leaf  upon  the  bough,  while  the 
leaf  which  has  lain  withered  and  seared  on  the  ground, 
bruised  and  trampled  upon  till  the  sap  and  life  are  gone, 
is  suddenly  whirled  aloft — now  here — now  there — 
without  stay  and  without  rest ;  so  the  love  which  visits 
the  happy  and  the  hopeful  hath  but  freshness  on  its 
wings !  its  violence  is  but  sportive.  But  the  heart  that 
hath  fallen  from  the  green  things  of  life,  that  is  with- 
out hope,  that  hath  no  summer  in  its  fibres,  is  torn  and 
whirled  by  the  same  wind  that  but  caresses  its  brethren ; 
— it  hath  no  bough  to  cling  to — it  is  dashed  from  path 
to  path — till  the  winds  fall,  and  it  is  crushed  into  the 
mire  for  ever. 

The  friendless  childhood  of  Nydia  had  hardened 
prematurely  her  character;  perhaps  the  heated  scenes 
of  profligacy  through  which  she  had  passed,  seemingly 
unscathed,  had  ripened  her  passions,  though  they  had 
not  sullied  her  purity.  The  orgies  of  Burbo  might  only 
have  disgusted,  the  banquets  of  the  Egyptian  might 
only  have  terrified,  at  the  moment ;  but  the  winds  that 
pass  unheeded  over  the  soil  leave  seeds  behind  them. 
As  darkness,  too,  favours  the  imagination,  so,  perhaps, 
her  very  blindness  contributed  to  feed  with  wild  and 
delirious  visions  the  love  of  the  unfortunate  girl.  The 
voice  of  Glaucus  had  been  the  first  that  had  sounded 
musically  to  her  ear;  his  kindness  made  a  deep  im- 


232        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

pression  upon  her  mind ;  when  he  had  left  Pompeii  in 
the  former  year,  she  had  treasured  up  in  her  heart  every 
word  he  had  uttered ;  and  when  any  one  told  her  that 
this  friend  and  patron  of  the  poor  flower-girl  was  the 
most  brilliant  and  most  graceful  of  the  young  revellers 
of  Pompeii,  she  had  felt  a  pleasing  pride  in  nursing  his 
recollection.  Even  the  task  which  she  imposed  upon 
herself,  of  tending  his  flowers,  served  to  keep  him  in 
her  mind ;  she  associated  him  with  all  that  was  most 
charming  to  her  impressions;  and  when  she  had  re- 
fused to  express  what  image  she  fancied  lone  to  re- 
semble, it  was  partly,  perhaps,  that  whatever  was  bright 
and  soft  in  nature  she  had  already  combined  with  the 
thought  of  Glaucus.  If  any  of  my  readers  ever  loved 
at  an  age  which  they  would  now  smile  to  remember — 
an  age  in  which  fancy  forestalled  the  reason,  let  them 
say  whether  that  love,  among  all  its  strange  and  com- 
plicated delicacies,  was  not  above  all  other  and  later 
passions,  susceptible  of  jealousy?  I  seek  not  here  the 
cause :  I  know  that  it  is  commonly  the  fact. 

When  Glaucus  returned  to  Pompeii,  Nydia  had  told 
another  year  of  life;  that  year,  with  its  sorrows,  its 
loneliness,  its  trials,  had  greatly  developed  her  mind ; 
and  when  the  Athenian  drew  her  unconsciously  to  his 
breast,  deeming  her  still  in  soul  as  in  years  a  child — 
when  he  kissed  her  smooth  cheek,  and  wound  his  arm 
round  her  trembling  frame,  Nydia  felt  suddenly,  and 
as  by  revelation,  that  those  feelings  she  had  long  and 
innocently  cherished  were  of  love.  Doomed  to  be  res- 
cued from  tyranny  by  Glaucus — doomed  to  take  shelter 
under  his  roof — doomed  to  breathe,  but  for  so  brief  a 
time,  the  same  air — and  doomed  in  the  first  rush  of  a 
thousand  happy,  grateful,  delicious  sentiments  of  an 
overflowing  heart,  to  hear  that  he  loved  another ;  to  be 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        233 

commissioned  to  that  other,  the  messenger,  the  minis- 
ter ;  to  feel  all  at  once  that  utter  nothingness  which  she 
was — which  she  ever  must  be,  but  which,  till  then,  her 
young  mind  had  not  taught  her — that  utter  nothing- 
ness to  him  who  was  all  to  her ;  what  wonder  that,  in 
her  wild  and  passionate  soul,  all  the  elements  jarred 
discordant ;  that  if  love  reigned  over  the  whole,  it  was 
not  the  love  which  is  born  of  the  more  sacred  and  soft 
emotions?  Sometimes  she  dreaded  only  lest  Glaucus 
should  discover' her  secret;  sometimes  she  felt  indig- 
nant that  it  was  not  suspected ;  it  was  the  sign  of  con- 
tempt— could  he  imagine  that  she  presumed  so  far? 
Her  feelings  to  lone  ebbed  and  flowed  with  every  hour ; 
now  she  loved  her  because  he  did ;  now  she  hated  her 
for  the  same  cause.  There  were  moments  when  she 
could  have  murdered  her  unconscious  mistress;  mo- 
ments when  she  could  have  laid  down  her  life  for  her. 
These  fierce  and  tremulous  alternations  of  passion 
were  too  severe  to  be  borne  long.  Her  health  gave 
way,  though  she  felt  it  not — her  cheek  paled — her  step 
grew  feebler — tears  came  to,  her  eyes  more  often,  and 
relieved  her  less. 

One  morning,  when  she  repaired  to  her  usual  task 
in  the  garden  of  the  Athenian,  she  found  Glaucus  under 
the  columns  of  the  peristyle,  with  a  merchant  of  the 
town ;  he  was  selecting  jewels  for  his  destined  bride. 
He  had  already  fitted  up  her  apartment ;  the  jewels  he 
bought  that  day  were  placed  also  within  it — they  were 
never  fated  to  grace  the  fair  form  of  lone;  they  may 
be  seen  at  this  day  among  the  disinterred  treasures  of 
Pompeii,  in  the  chambers  of  the  studio  at  Naples.1 

"  Come  hither,  Nydia ;  put  down  thy  vase,  and  come 

1  Several  bracelets,  chains,  and  jewels,  were  found  in  the 
house. 


234        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

hither.  Thou  must  take  this  chain  from  me — stay — 
there,  I  have  put  it  on. — There,  Servilius,  does  it  not 
become  her  ?  " 

"Wonderfully!"  answered  the  jeweller;  for  jewel- 
lers were  well-bred  and  flattering  men,  even  at  that 
day.  "  But  when  these  earrings  glitter  in  the  ears  of 
the  noble  lone,  then,  by  Bacchus !  you  will  see  whether 
my  art  adds  anything  to  beauty." 

"  lone?"  repeated  Nydia,  who  had  hitherto  acknowl- 
edged by  smiles  and  blushes  the  gift  of  Glaucus. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Athenian,  carelessly  toying  with 
the  gems ;  "  I  am  choosing  a  present  for  lone,  but  there 
are  none  worthy  of  her." 

He  was  startled  as  he  spoke  by  an  abrupt  gesture  of 
Nydia ;  she  tore  the  chain  violently  from  her  neck,  and 
dashed  it  on  the  ground. 

"  How  is  this  ?  What,  Nydia,  dost  thou  not  like  the 
bauble  ?  art  thou  offended  ?  " 

"  You  treat  me  ever  as  a  slave  and  as  a  child,"  re- 
plied the  Thessalian,  with  a  breast  heaving  with  ill- 
suppressed  sobs,  and  she^turned  hastily  away  to  the 
opposite  corner  of  the  garden. 

Glaucus  did  not  attempt  to  follow,  or  to  soothe ;  he 
was  offended ;  he  continued  to  examine  the  jewels  and 
to  comment  on  their  fashion — to  object  to  this  and  to 
praise  that,  and  finally  to  be  talked  by  the  merchant 
into  buying  all ;  the  safest  plan  for  a  lover,  and  a  plan 
that  any  one  will  do  right  to  adopt — provided  always 
that  he  can  obtain  an  lone ! 

When  he  had  completed  his  purchase  and  dismissed 
the  jeweller,  he  retired  into  his  chamber,  dressed, 
mounted  his  chariot,  and  went  to  lone.  He  thought  no 
more  of  the  blind  girl  or  her  offence ;  he  had  forgotten 
both  the  one  and  the  other. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        235 

He  spent  the  forenoon  with  his  beautiful  Neapolitan, 
repaired  thence  to  the  baths,  supped  (if,  as  we  have 
said  before,  we  can  justly  so  translate  the  three  o'clock 
coena  of  the  Romans)  alone,  and  abroad,  for  Pompeii 
had  its  restaurateurs : — and  returning  home  to  change 
his  dress  ere  he,  again  repaired  to  the  house  of  lone,  he 
passed  the  peristyle,  but  with  the  absorbed  reverie  and 
absent  eyes  of  a  man  in  love,  and  did  not  note  the  form 
of  the  poor  blind  girl,  bending  exactly  in  the  same  place 
where  he  had  left  her.  But  though  he  saw  her  not,  her 
ear  recognised  at  once  the  sound  of  his  step.  She  had 
been  counting  the  moments  to  his  return.  He  had 
scarcely  entered  his  favourite  chamber,  which  opened 
on  the  peristyle,  and  seated  himself  musingly  on  his 
couch,  when  he  felt  his  robe  timorously  touched,  and, 
turning,  he  beheld  Nydia  kneeling  before  him,  and 
holding  up  to  him  a  handful  of  flowers — a  gentle  and 
appropriate  peace-offering; — her  eyes,  darkly  upheld 
to  his  own,  streamed  with  tears. 

"  I  have  offended  thee,"  said  she,  sobbing,  "  and  for 
the  first  time.  I  would  die  rather  than  cause  thee  a 
moment's  pain — say  that  thou  wilt  forgive  me.  See! 
I  have  taken  up  the  chain  ;  I  have  put  it  on ;  I  will  never 
part  from  it — it  is  thy  gift." 

"  My  dear  Nydia,"  returned  Glaucus,  and  raising 
her,  he  kissed  her  forehead,  "  think  of  it  no  more !  But 
why,  my  child,  wert  thou  so  suddenly  angry  ?  I  could 
not  divine  the  cause." 

"  Do  not  ask  !  "  said  she,  colouring  violently.  "  I  am 
a  thing  full  of  faults  and  humours ;  you  know  I  am  but 
a  child — you  say  so  often ;  is  it  from  a  child  that  you 
can  expect  a  reason  for  every  folly  ?  " 

"  But,  prettiest,  you  will  soon  be  a  child  no  more ; 
and  if  you  would  have  us  treat  you  as  a  woman  you 


236        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

must  learn  to  govern  these  singular  impulses  and  gales 
of  passion.  Think  not  I  chide :  no,  it  is  for  your  happi- 
ness only  I  speak." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Nydia,  "  I  must  learn  to  govern 
myself.  I  must  hide,  I  must  suppress,  my  heart.  This 
is  a  woman's  task  and  duty;  methinks  her  virtue  is 
hypocrisy." 

"  Self-control  is  not  deceit,  my  Nydia,"  returned  the 
Athenian ;  "  and  that  is  the  virtue  necessary  alike  to 
man  and  to  woman,  it  is  the  true  senatorial  toga,  the 
badge  of  the  dignity  it  covers." 

"  Self-control !  self-control !  Well,  well,  what  you 
say  is  right !  When  I  listen  to  you,  Glaucus,  my  wildest 
thoughts  grow  calm  and  sweet,  and  a  delicious  serenity 
falls  over  me.  Advise,  ah !  guide  me  ever,  my  pre- 
server !  " 

"  Thy  affectionate  heart  will  be  thy  best  guide, 
Nydia,  when  thou  hast  learned  to  regulate  its  feelings." 

"  Ah !  that  will  be  never,"  sighed  Nydia,  wiping 
away  her  tears. 

"  Say  not  so :  the  first  effort  is  the  only  difficult  one." 

"  I  have  made  many  first  efforts,"  answered  Nydia, 
innocently.  "  But  you,  my  Mentor,  do  you  find  it  so 
easy  to  control  yourself?  Can  you  conceal,  can  you 
even  regulate  your  love  for  lone  ?  " 

"  Love !  clear  Nydia :  ah !  that  is  quite  another  mat- 
ter," answered  the  young  preceptor. 

"  I  thought  so,"  returned  Nydia,  with  a  melancholy 
smile.  "  Glaucus,  wilt  thou  take  my  poor  flowers  ?  Do 
with  them  as  thou  wilt — thou  canst  give  them  to  lone," 
added  she,  with  a  little  hesitation. 

"  Nay,  Nydia,"  answered  Glaucus,  kindly,  divining 
something  of  jealousy  in  her  language,  though  he  im- 
agined it  only  the  jealousy  of  a  vain  and  susceptible 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        237 

child ;  "  I  will  not  give  thy  pretty  flowers  to  any  one. 
Sit  here  and  weave  them  into  a  garland ;  I  will  wear  it 
this  night :  it  is  not  the  first  those  delicate  fingers  have 
woven  for  me." 

The  poor  girl  delightedly  sat  down  beside  Glaucus. 
She  drew  from  her  girdle  a  ball  of  the  many-coloured 
threads,  or  rather  slender  ribands,  used  in  the  weav- 
ing of  garlands,  and  which  (for  it  was  her  professional 
occupation)  she  carried  constantly  with  her,  and  be- 
gan quickly  and  gracefully  to  commence  her  task. 
Upon  her  young  cheeks  the  tears  were  already  dried, 
a  faint  but  happy  smile  played  round  her  lips ; — child- 
like, indeed,  she  was  sensible  only  of  the  joy  of  the 
present  hour :  she  was  reconciled  to  Glaucus :  he  had 
forgiven  her — she  was  beside  him — he  played  caress- 
ingly with  her  silken  hair — his  breath  fanned  her  cheek, 
— lone,  the  cruel  lone,  was  not  by — none  other  de- 
manded, divided,  his  care.  Yes,  she  was  happy  and 
forgetful ;  it  was  one  of  the  few  moments  in  her  brief 
and  troubled  life  that  it  was  sweet  to  treasure,  to  recall. 
As  the  butterfly,  allured  by  the  winter  sun,  basks  for  a 
little  while  in  the  sudden  light,  ere  yet  the  wind  awakes 
and  the  frost  comes  on,  which  shall  blast  it  before  the 
eve, — she  Crested  beneath  a  beam,  which,  by  contrast 
with  the  wonted  skies,  was  not  chilling ;  and  the  instinct 
which  should  have  warned  her  of  its  briefness,  bade 
her  only  gladden  in  its  smile. 

"  Thou  hast  beautiful  locks,"  said  Glaucus.  "  They 
were  once,  I  ween  well,  a  mother's  delight." 

Nydia  sighed ;  it  would  seem  that  she  had  not  been 
born  a  slave ;  but  she  ever  shunned  the  mention  of  her 
parentage,  and,  whether  obscure  or  noble,  certain  it  is 
that  her  birth  was  never  known  by  her  benefactors, 
nor  by  any  one  in  those  distant  shores,  even  to  the  last. 


238        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  child  of  sorrow  and  of  mystery,  she  came  and  went 
as  some  bird  that  enters  our  chamber  for  a  moment ;  we 
see  it  flutter  for  a  while  before  us,  we  know  not  whence 
it  flew  or  to  what  region  it  escapes. 

Nydia  sighed,  and  after  a  short  pause,  without  an- 
swering the  remark,  said, — 

"  But  do  I  weave  too  many  roses  in  my  wreath,  Glau- 
cus  ?  They  tell  me  it  is  thy  favourite  flower." 

"  And  ever  favoured,  my  Nydia,  be  it  by  those  who 
have  the  soul  of  poetry :  it  is  the  flower  of  love,  of  fes- 
tivals ;  it  is  also  the  flower  we  dedicate  to  silence  and 
to  death ;  it  blooms  on  our  brows  in  life,  while  life  be 
worth  the  having;  it  is  scattered  above  our  sepulchre 
when  we  are  no  more." 

"  Ah !  would,"  said  Nydia,  "  instead  of  this  perish- 
able wreath,  that  I  could  take  thy  web  from  the  hand  of 
the  Fates,  and  insert  the  roses  there! " 

"  Pretty  one !  thy  wish  is  worthy  of  a  voice  so  at- 
tuned to  song;  it  is  uttered  in  the  spirit  of  song;  and, 
whatever  my  doom,  I  thank  thee." 

"  Whatever  thy  doom !  is  it  not  already  destined  to 
all  things  bright  and  fair?  My  wish  was  vain.  The 
Fates  will  be  as  tender  to  thee  as  I  should." 

"  It  might  not  be  so,  Nydia,  were  it  not  for  love ! 
While  youth  lasts,  I  may  forget  my  country  for  a  while. 
But  what  Athenian,  in  his  graver  manhood,  can  think 
of  Athens  as  she  was,  and  be  contented  that  he  is  happy, 
while  she  is  fallen? — fallen,  and  for  ever?  " 

"  And  why  for  ever  ?  " 

"  As  ashes  cannot  be  rekindled — as  love  once  dead 
can  never  revive,  so  freedom  departed  from  a  people 
is  never  regained.  But  talk  we  not  of  these  matters 
unsuited  to  thee." 

"  To  me,  oh !  thou  errest.    I,  too,  have  my  sighs  for 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        239 

Greece ;  my  cradle  was  rocked  at  the  foot  of  Olympus ; 
the  gods  have  left  the  mountain,  but  their  traces  may 
be  seen — seen  in  the  hearts  of  their  worshippers,  seen 
in  the  beauty  of  their  clime :  they  tell  me  it  is  beauti- 
ful, and  /  have  felt  its  airs,  to  which  even  these  are 
harsh — its  sun,  to  which  these  skies  are  chill.  Oh! 
talk  to  me  of  Greece !  Poor  fool  that  I  am,  I  can  com- 
prehend thee !  and  methinks,  had  I  yet  lingered  on  those 
shores,  had  I  been  a  Grecian  maid  whose  happy  fate  it 
was  to  love  and  to  be  loved,  I  myself  could  have  armed 
my  lover  for  another  Marathon,  a  new  Plataea.  Yes, 
the  hand  that  now  weaves  the  roses  should  have  woven 
thee  the  olive  crown  !  " 

"  If  such  a  day  could  come !  "  said  Glaucus,  catching 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  blind  Thessalian,  and  half  ris- 
ing.— "  But  no !  the  sun  has  set,  and  the  night  only  bids 
us  be  forgetful, — and  in  forgetfulness  be  gay : — weave 
still  the  roses !  " 

But  it  was  with  a  melancholy  tone  of  forced  gaiety 
that  the  Athenian  uttered  the  last  words :  and  sinking 
into  a  gloomy  reverie,  he  was  only  wakened  from  it,  a 
few  minutes  afterwards,  by  the  voice  of  Nydia,  as  she 
sang  in  a  low  tone  the  following  words,  which  he  had 
once  taught  her: 

THE  APOLOGY   FOR   PLEASURE 
i. 

Who  will  assume  the  bays 

That  the  hero  wore? 
Wreaths  on  the  Tomb  of  Days 

Gone  evermore ! 
Who  shall  disturb  the  brave, 
Or  one  leaf  on  their  holy  grave? 
The  laurel  is  vowed  to  them, 
Leave  the  bay  on  its  sacred  stem ! 
But  this,  the  rose,  the  fading  rose, 
Alike  for  slave  and  freeman  grows. 


240  THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

ii. 

If  Memory  sit  beside  the  dead 

With  tombs  her  only  treasure; 
If  Hope  is  lost  and  Freedom  fled, 

The  more  excuse  for  Pleasure, 
Come,  weave  the  wreath,  the  roses  weave, 

The  rose  at  least  is  ours : 
To  feeble  hearts  our  fathers  leave, 

In  pitying  scorn,  the  flowers! 

in. 

On  the  summit,  worn  and  hoary, 
Of  Phyle's  solemn  hill, 
The  tramp  of  the  brave  is  still ! 
And  still  in  the  saddening  Mart, 
The  pulse  of  that  mighty  heart, 

Whose  very  blood  was  glory ! 
Glaucopis  forsakes  her  own, 

The  angry  gods  forget  us ; 
But  yet,  the  blue  streams  along, 
Walk  the  feet  of  the  silver  Song! 
And  the  night-bird  wakes  the  moon ; 
And  the  bees  in  the  blushing  noon 

Haunt  the  heart  of  the  old  Hymettus. 
We  are  fallen,  but  not  forlorn, 

If  something  is  left  to  cherish; 
As  Love  was  the  earliest  born, 

So  love  is  the  last  to  perish. 

IV. 

Wreathe  then  the  roses,  wreathe, 

The  BEAUTIFUL  still  is  ours, 

While  the  stream  shall  flow  and  the  sky  shall  glow, 
The  BEAUTIFUL  still  is  ours! 
Whatever  is  fair,  or  soft,  or  bright, 
In  the  lap  of  day  or  the  arms  of  night, 
Whispers  our  soul  of  Greece — of  Greece. 
And  hushes  our  care  with  a  voice  of  peace. 
Wreathe  then  the  roses,  wreathe ! 

They  tell  me  of  earlier  hours ; 
And  I  hear  the  heart  of  my  country  breathe 
From  the  lips  of  the  stranger's  flowers. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        241 


CHAPTER   V 

NYDIA   ENCOUNTERS   JULIA. — INTERVIEW   WITH   THE 

HEATHEN    SISTER    AND    CONVERTED    BROTHER. AN 

ATHENIAN'S  NOTION  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 

"  What  happiness  to  lone !  what  bliss  to  be  ever  by 
the  side  of  Glaucus,  to  hear  his  voice! — And  she  too 
can  see  him !  " 

Such  was  the  soliloquy  of  the  blind  girl,  as  she 
walked  alone  and  at  twilight  to  the  house  of  her  new 
mistress,  whither  Glaucus  had  already  preceded  her. 
Suddenly  she  was  interrupted  in  her  fond  thoughts  by 
a  female  voice. 

"  Blind  flower-girl,  whither  goest  thou?  There  is  no 
pannier  under  thine  arm ;  hast  thou  sold  all  thy  flow- 
ers?" 

The  person  thus  accosting  Nydia  was  a  lady  of  a 
handsome  but  a  bold  and  unmaidenly  countenance:  it 
was  Julia,  the  daughter  of  Diomed.  Her  veil  was  half 
raised  as  she  spoke;  she  was  accompanied  by  Diomed 
himself,  and  by  a  slave  carrying  a  lantern  before  them 
— the  merchant  and  his  daughter  were  returning  home 
from  a  supper  at  one  of  their  neighbours'. 

"  Dost  thou  not  remember  my  voice  ?  "  continued 
Julia.  "  I  am  the  daughter  of  Diomed  the  wealthy." 

"  Ah !  forgive  me ;  yes,  I  recall  the  tones  of  youf 
voice.  No,  noble  Julia,  I  have  no  flowers  to  sell." 

"  I  heard  that  thou  wert  purchased  by  the  beautiful 
Greek  Glaucus ;  is  that  true,-  pretty  slave  ?  "  asked  Julia. 

"  I  serve  the  Neapolitan,  lone,"  replied  Nydia, 
evasively. 

"  Ah !  and  it  is  true,  then " 

16 


242        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Come,  come !  "  interrupted  Diomed,  with  his  cloak 
up  to  his  mouth ;  "  the  night  grows  cold ;  I  cannot  stay 
here  while  you  prate  to  that  blind  girl:  come,  let  her 
follow  you  home,  if  you  wish  to  speak  to  her." 

"  Do,  child,"  said  Julia,  with  the  air  of  one  not  ac- 
customed to  be  refused ;  "  I  have  much  to  ask  of  thee : 
come." 

"  I  cannot  this  night,  it  grows  late,"  answered  Nydia. 
"  I  must  be  at  home ;  I  am  not  free,  noble  Julia." 

"  What,  the  meek  lone  will  chide  thee  ? — Ay,  I 
doubt  not  she  is  a  second  Thalestris.  But  come,  then, 
to-morrow:  do — remember  I  have  been  thy  friend  of 
old." 

"  I  will  obey  thy  wishes,"  answered  Nydia ;  and 
Diomed  again  impatiently  summoned  his  daughter; 
she  was  obliged  to  proceed  with  the  main  question  she 
had  desired  to  put  to  Nydia  unasked. 

Meanwhile  we  return  to  lone.  The  interval  of  time 
that  had  elapsed  that  day  between  the  first  and  second 
visit  of  Glaucus  had  not  been  too  gaily  spent :  she  had 
received  a  visit  from  her  brother.  Since  the  night  he 
had  assisted  in  saving  her  from  the  Egyptian,  she  had 
not  before  seen  him. 

Occupied  with  his  own  thoughts,  thoughts  of  so  se- 
rious and  intense  a  nature, — the  young  priest  had 
thought  little  of  his  sister;  in  truth,  men  perhaps  of 
that  fervent  order  of  mind  which  is  ever  aspiring  above 
earth,  are  but  little  prone  to  the  earthlier  affections; 
and  it  had  been  long  since  Apaecides  had  sought  those 
soft  and  friendly  interchanges  of  thought,  those  sweet 
confidences,  which  in  his  earlier  youth  had  bound  him 
to  lone,  and  which  are  so  natural  to  that  endearing 
connection  which  existed  between  them. 

lone,  however,  had  not  ceased  to  regret  his  estrange- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        243 

ment:  she  attributed  it  at  present  to  the  engrossing 
duties  of  his  severe  fraternity.  And  often,  amidst  all 
her  bright  hopes,  and  her  new  attachment  to  her  be- 
trothed— often,  when  she  thought  of  her  brother's  brow 
prematurely  furrowed,  his  unsmiling  lip,  and  bended 
frame,  she  sighed  to  think  that  the  service  of  the  gods 
could  throw  so  deep  a  shadow  over  that  earth  which 
the  gods  created. 

But  this  day  when  he  visited  her  there  was  a  strange 
calmness  on  his  features,  a  more  quiet  and  self-pos- 
sessed expression  in  his  sunken  eyes,  than  she  had 
marked  for  years.  This  apparent  improvement  was 
but  momentary — it  was  a  false  calm,  which  the  least 
breeze  could  ruffle. 

"  May  the  gods  bless  thee,  my  brother !  "  said  she, 
embracing  him. 

"  The  gods !  Speak  not  thus  vaguely  ;  perchance 
there  is  but  one  God !  " 

"  My  brother !  " 

"  What  if  the  sublime  faith  of  the  Nazarene  be  true  ? 
What  if  God  be  a  monarch — One — Invisible — Alone? 
What  if  these  numerous,  countless  deities,  whose  altars 
fill  the  earth,  be  but  evil  demons,  seeking  to  wean  us 
from  the  true  creed  ?  This  may  be  the  case,  lone !  " 

"  Alas !  can  we  believe  it  ?  or  if  we  believed,  would 
it  not  be  a  melancholy  faith  ?  "  answered  the  Neapoli- 
tan. "  What !  all  this  beautiful  world  made  only  hu- 
man!— the  mountain  disenchanted  of  its  Oread — the 
waters  of  their  Nymph — that  beautiful  prodigality  of 
faith,  which  makes  everything  divine,  consecrating  the 
meanest  flowers,  bearing  celestial  whispers  in  the  faint- 
est breeze — wouldst  thou  deny  this,  and  make  the  earth 
mere  dust  and  clay  ?  No,  Apaecides  ;  all  that  is  bright- 
est in  our  hearts  is  that  very  credulity  which  peoples 
the  universe  with  gods." 


244        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

lone  answered  as  a  believer  in  the  poesy  of  the  old 
mythology  would  answer.  We  may  judge  by  that  re- 
ply how  obstinate  and  hard  the  contest  which  Chris- 
tianity had  to  endure  among  the  heathens.  The  Grace- 
ful Superstition  was  never  silent;  every,  the  most 
household,  action  of  their  lives  was  entwined  with  it, 
— it  was  a  portion  of  life  itself,  as  the  flowers  are  a 
part  of  the  thyrsus.  At  every  incident  they  recurred 
to  a  god,  every  cup  of  wine  was  prefaced  by  a  libation : 
the  very  garlands  on  their  threshold  were  dedicated  to 
some  divinity;  their  ancestors  themselves,  made  holy, 
presided  as  Lares  over  their  hearth  and  hall.  So 
abundant  was  belief  with  them,  that  in  their  own 
climes  at  this  hour,  idolatry  has  never  thoroughly  been 
outrooted ;  it  changes  but  its  objects  of  worship ;  it  ap- 
peals to  innumerable  saints  where  once  it  resorted  to 
divinities;  and  it  pours  its  crowds,  in  listening  rever- 
ence, to  oracles  at  the  shrines  of  St.  Januarius  or  St. 
Stephen,  instead  of  to  those  of  Isis  or  Apollo. 

But  these  superstitions  were  not  to  the  early  Chris- 
tians the  object  of  contempt  so  much  as  of  horror. 
They  did  not  believe,  with  the  quiet  scepticism  of  the 
heathen  philosopher,  that  the  gods  were  inventions  of 
the  priests ;  nor  even,  with  the  vulgar,  that,  according 
to  the  dim  light  of  history,  they  had  been  mortals  like 
themselves.  They  imagined  the  heathen  divinities  to 
be  evil  spirits — they  transplanted  to  Italy  and  to 
Greece  the  gloomy  demons  of  India  and  the  East ;  and 
in  Jupiter  or  in  Mars  they  shuddered  at  the  representa- 
tive of  Moloch  or  of  Satan.1 

1  In  Pompeii,  a  rough  sketch  of  Pluto  delineates  that  fearful 
deity  in  the  shape  we  at  present  ascribe  to  the  devil,  and 
decorates  him  with  the  paraphernalia  of  horns  and  a  tail.  But, 
in  all  probability,  it  was  from  the  mysterious  Pan,  the  haunter 
of  solitary  places,  the  inspirer  of  vague  and  soul-shaking  ter- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        245 

Apaecides  had  not  yet  adopted  formally  the  Christian 
faith,  but  he  was  already  on  the  brink  of  it.  He  al- 
ready participated  in  the  doctrines  of  Olinthus — he 
already  imagined  that  the  lively  imaginations  of  the 
heathen  were  the  suggestions  of  the  arch-enemy  of 
mankind.  The  innocent  and  natural  answer  of  lone 
made  him  shudder.  He  hastened  to  reply  vehemently, 
and  yet  so  confusedly,  that  lone  feared  for  his  reason 
more  than  she  dreaded  his  violence. 

"  Ah,  my  brother !  "  said  she,  "  these  hard  duties  of 
thine  have  shattered  thy  very  sense.  Come  to  me,  Apae- 
cides,  my  brother,  my  own  brother ;  give  me  thy  hand, 
let  me  wipe  the  dew  from  thy  brow; — chide  me  not 
now,  I  understand  thee  not ;  think  only  that  lone  could 
not  offend  thee !  " 

"  lone,"  said  Apaecides,  drawing  her  towards  him, 
and  regarding  her  tenderly,  "  can  I  think  that  this 
beautiful  form,  this  kind  heart,  may  be  destined  to  an 
eternity  of  torment  ?  " 

"  Dii  meliora !  the  gods  forbid !  "  said  lone,  in  the 
customary  form  of  words  by  which  her  contemporaries 
thought  an  omen  might  be  averted. 

The  words,  and  still  more  the  superstition  they  im- 
plied, wounded  the  ear  of  Apaecides.  He  rose,  mutter- 
ing to  himself,  turned  from  the  chamber,  then,  stop- 
ping half  way,  gazed  wistfully  on  lone,  and  extended 
his  arms. 

lone  flew  to  them  in  joy ;  he  kissed  her  earnestly,  and 
then  he  said, — 

"  Farewell,  my  sister !  when  we  next  meet,  thou 
mayst  be  to  me  as  nothing;  take  thou,  then,  this  em- 

rors,  that  we  took  the  vulgar  notion  of  the  outward  likeness 
of  the  fiend ;  it  corresponds  exactly  to  the  cloven-footed  Satan. 
And  in  the  lewd  and  profligate  rites  of  Pan,  Christians  might 
well  imagine  they  traced  the  deception  of  the  devil. 


246        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

brace — full  yet  of  all  the  tender  reminiscences  of  child- 
hood, when  faith  and  hope,  creeds,  customs,  interests, 
objects,  were  the  same  to  us.  Now,  the  tie  is  to  be 
broken !  " 

With  these  strange  words  he  left  the  house. 

The  great  and  severest  trial  of  the  primitive  Chris- 
tians was  indeed  this ;  their  conversion  separated  them 
from  their  dearest  bonds.  They  could  not  associate 
with  beings  whose  commonest  actions,  whose  com- 
monest forms  of  speech,  were  impregnated  with  idol- 
atry. They  shuddered  at  the  blessing  of  love,  to  their 
ears  it  was  uttered  in  a  demon's  name.  This,  their 
misfortune,  was  their  strength ;  if  it  divided  them  from 
the  rest  of  the  world,  it  was  to  unite  them  proportion- 
ally to  each  other.  They  were  men  of  iron  who 
wrought  forth  the  Word  of  God,  and  verily  the  bonds 
that  bound  them  were  of  iron  also ! 

Glaucus  found  lone  in  tears ;  he  had  already  assumed 
the  sweet  privilege  to  console.  He  drew  from  her  a 
recital  of  her  interview  with  her  brother;  but  in  her 
confused  account  of  language,  itself  so  confused  to 
one  not  prepared  for  it,  he  was  equally  at  a  loss  with 
lone  to  conceive  the  intentions  or  the  meaning  of  Apae- 
cides. 

"  Hast  thou  ever  heard  much,"  asked  she,  "  of  this 
new  sect  of  the  Nazarenes  of  which  my  brother 
spoke?"" 

"  I  have  often  heard  enough  of  the  votaries,"  re- 
turned Glaucus;  "but  of  their  exact  tenets  know  I 
naught,  save  that  in  their  doctrine  there  seemeth  some- 
thing preternaturally  chilling  and  morose.  They  live 
apart  from  their  kind ;  they  affect  to  be  shocked  even 
at  our  simple  uses  of  garlands ;  they  have  no  sympa- 
thies with  the  cheerful  amusements  of  life;  they  utter 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         247 

awful  threats  of  the  coming  destruction  of  the  world : 
they  appear,  in  one  word,  to  have  brought  their  un- 
smiling and  gloomy  creed  out  of  the  cave  of  Tropho- 
nius.  Yet,"  continued  Glaucus,  after  a  slight  pause, 
"  they  have  not  wanted  men  of  great  power  and  genius, 
nor  converts,  even  among  the  Areopagites  of  Athens. 
Well  do  I  remember  to  have  heard  my  father  speak 
of  one  strange  guest  at  Athens,  many  years  ago;  me- 
thinks  his  name  was  PAUL.  My  father  was  amongst  a 
mighty  crowd  that  gathered  on  one  of  our  immemorial 
hills  to  hear  this  sage  of  the  East  expound:  through 
the  wide  throng  there  rang  not  a  single  murmur ! — 
the  jest  and  the  roar,  with  which  our  native  orators  are 
received,  were  hushed  for  him — and  when  on  the 
loftiest  summit  of  that  hill,  raised  above  the  breath- 
less crowd  below,  stood  this  mysterious  visitor,  his 
mien  and  his  countenance  awed  every  heart,  even  before 
a  sound  left  his  lips.  He  was  a  man,  I  have  heard  my 
father  say,  of  no  tall  stature,  but  of  noble  and  impres- 
sive mien ;  his  robes  were  dark  and  ample ;  the  de- 
clining sun,  for  it  was  evening,  shone  aslant  upon  his 
form  as  it  rose  aloft,  motionless  and  commanding ;  his 
countenance  was  much  worn  and  marked,  as  of  one 
who  had  braved  alike  misfortune  and  the  sternest  vicis- 
situdes of  many  climes ;  but  his  eyes  were  bright  with 
an  almost  unearthlv  fire ;  and  when  he  raised  his  arm 
to  speak,  it  was  with  the  majestv  of  a  man  into  whom 
the  Spirit  of  a  God  hath  rushed ! 

" '  Men  of  Athens ! '  he  is  renorted  to  have  said,  '  I 
find  amongst  ve  an  altar  with  this  inscription — To  THE 
UNKNOWN  GOD.  Ye  worship  in  ignorance  the  same 
Deity  I  serve.  To  you  unknown  till  now,  to  you  be  it 
now  revealed.' 

"  Then  declared  that  solemn  man  how  this  great 


248        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Maker  of  all  things,  who  had  appointed  unto  man  his 
several  tribes  and  his  various  homes — the  Lord  of 
earth  and  the  universal  heaven,  dwelt  not  in  temples 
made  with  hands;  that  His  presence,  His  spirit,  were 
in  the  air  we  breathed ; — our  life  and  our  being  were 
with  Him.  '  Think  you,'  he  cried,  '  that  the  Invisible 
is  like  your  statues  of  gold  and  marble?  Think  you 
that  He  needeth  sacrifice  from  you :  He  who  made 
heaven  and  earth  ? '  Then  spake  he  of  fearful  and 
coming  times,  of  the  end  of  the  world,  of  a  second  ris- 
ing of  the  dead,  whereof  an  assurance  had  been  given 
to  man  in  the  resurrection  of  the  mighty  Being  whose 
religion  he  came  to  preach. 

"  When  he  thus  spoke,  the  long-pent  murmur  went 
forth  and  the  philosophers  that  were  mingled  with  the 
people,  muttered  their  sage  contempt;  there  might 
you  have  seen  the  chilling  frown  of  the  Stoic  and  the 
Cynic's  sneer ; * — and  the  Epicurean,  who  believeth  not 
even  in  our  own  Elysium,  muttered  a  pleasant  jest,  and 
swept  laughing  through  the  crowd :  but  the  deep  heart 
of  the  people  was  touched  and  thrilled ;  and  they 
trembled,  though  they  knew  not  why,  for  verily  the 
stranger  had  the  voice  and  the  majesty  of  a  man  to 
whom  '  The  Unknown  God  '  had  committed  the  preach- 
ing of  his  faith." 

lone  listened  with  rapt  attention,  and  the  serious  and 
earnest  manner  of  the  narrator  betrayed  the  impres- 
sion that  he  himself  had  received  from  one  who  had 
been  amongst  the  audience  that  on  the  hill  of  the 
heathen  Mars  had  heard  the  first  tidings  of  the  word 
of  Christ ! 

1  "  The  haughty  Cynic  scowl'd  his  grovelling  hate, 
And  the  soft  garden's  rose-encircled  child 
Smil'd  unbelief,  and  shudder'd  as  he  smil'd." 

Praed:  Prise  Poem,  "Athens." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        249 
CHAPTER  VI 

THE   PORTER. THE  GIRL. AND  THE  GLADIATOR. 

The  door  of  Diomed's  house  stood  open,  and  Medon, 
the  old  slave,  sat  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  by  which 
you  ascended  to  the  mansion.  That  luxurious  man- 
sion of  the  rich  merchant  of  Pompeii  is  still  to  be  seen 
just  without  the  gates  of  the  city,  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  Street  of  Tombs ;  it  was  a  gay  neighbour- 
hood, despite  the  dead.  On  the  opposite  side,  but  at 
some  yards  nearer  the  gate,  was  a  spacious  hostelry, 
at  which  those  brought  by  business  or  by  pleasure  to 
Pompeii  often  stopped  to  refresh  themselves.  In  the 
space  before  the  entrance  of  the  inn  now  stood 
waggons,  and  carts,  and  chariots,  some  just  arrived, 
some  just  quitting,  in  all  the  bustle  of  an  animated  and 
popular  resort  of  public  entertainment.  Before  the 
door,  some  farmers,  seated  on  a  bench  by  a  small  cir- 
cular table,  were  talking  over  their  morning  cups,  on 
the  affairs  of  their  calling.  On  the  side  of  the  door 
itself  was  painted  gaily  and  freshly  the  eternal  sign 
of  the  checkers.1  By  the  roof  of  the  inn  stretched  a 
terrace,  on  which  some  females,  wives  of  the  farmers 
above  mentioned,  were,  some  seated,  some  leaning  over 
the  railing,  and  conversing  with  their  friends  below. 
In  a  deep  recess,  at  a  little  distance,  was  a  covered  seat, 
in  which  some  two  or  three  poorer  travellers  were  rest- 
ing themselves  and  shaking  the  dust  from  their  gar- 
ments. On  the  other  side  stretched  a  wide  space,  orig- 
inally the  burial-ground  of  a  more  ancient  race  than 
the  present  denizens  of  Pompeii,  and  now  converted 
into  the  Ustrinum,  or  place  for  the  burning  of  the 

1  There  is  another  inn  within  the  walls  similarly  adorned. 


250        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

dead.  Above  this  rose  the  terraces  of  a  gay  villa,  half 
hid  by  trees.  The  tombs  themselves  with  their  grace- 
ful and  varied  shapes,  the  flowers  and  the  foliage  that 
surrounded  them,  made  no  melancholy  feature  in  the 
prospect.  Hard  by  the  gate  of  the  city,  in  a  small  niche, 
stood  the  still  form  of  the  well-disciplined  Roman  sen- 
try, the  sun  shining  brightly  on  his  polished  crest,  and 
the  lance  on  which  he  leaned.  The  gate  itself  was  di- 
vided into  three  arches,  the  centre  one  for  vehicles,  the 
others  for  the  foot-passengers ;  and  on  either  side  rose 
the  massive  walls  which  girt  the  city,  composed, 
patched,  repaired  at  a  thousand  different  epochs,  ac- 
cording as  war,  time,  or  the  earthquake  had  shattered 
that  vain  protection.  At  frequent  intervals  rose  square 
towers,  whose  summits  broke  in  picturesque  rudeness 
the  regular  line  of  the  wall,  and  contrasted  well  with 
the  modern  buildings  gleaming  whitely  by. 

The  curving  road,  which  in  that  direction  leads  from 
Pompeii  to  Herculaneum,  wound  out  of  sight  amidst 
hanging  vines,  above  which  frowned  the  sullen  Majesty 
of  Vesuvius. 

"  Hast  thou  heard  the  news,  old  Medon  ?  "  said  a 
young  woman,  with  a  pitcher  in  her  hand,  as  she  paused 
by  Diomed's  door  to  gossip  a  moment  with  the  slave, 
ere  she  repaired  to  the  neighbouring  inn  to  fill  the  ves- 
sel, and  coquet  with  the  travellers. 

"  The  news !  what  news  ?  "  said  the  slave,  raising  his 
eyes  moodily  from  the  ground. 

"  Why,  there  passed  through  the  gate  this  morning, 
no  doubt  ere  thou  wert  well  awake,  such  a  visitor  to 
Pompeii !  " 

"  Ay,"  said  the  slave,  indifferently. 

"  Yes,  a  present  from  the  noble  Pomponianus." 

"  A  present !    I  thought  thou  saidst  a  visitor  ?  " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        251 

"  It  is  both  visitor  and  present.  Know,  O  dull  and 
stupid !  that  it  is  a  most  beautiful  young  tiger,  for  our 
approaching  games  in  the  amphitheatre.  Hear  you 
that,  Medon?  Oh,  what  pleasure!  I  declare  I  shall 
not  sleep  a  wink  till  I  see  it;  they  say  it  has  such  a 
roar !  " 

"  Poor  fool !  "  said  Medon,  sadly  and  cynically. 

"  Call  me  no  fool,  old  churl !  It  is  a  pretty  thing,  a 
tiger,  especially  if  we  could  but  find  somebody  for  him 
to  eat.  We  have  now  a  lion  and  a  tiger :  only  consider 
that,  Medon !  and  for  want  of  two  good  criminals  per- 
haps we  shall  be  forced  to  see  them  eat  each  other.  By 
the  by,  your  son  is  a  gladiator,  a  handsome  man  and 
a  strong ;  can  you  not  persuade  him  to  fight  the  tiger  ? 
Do  now,  you  would  oblige  me  mightily ;  nay,  you 
would  be  a  benefactor  to  the  whole  town." 

"  Vah !  vah !  "  said  the  slave,  with  great  asperity ; 
"  think  of  thine  own  danger  ere  thou  thus  pratest  of 
my  poor  boy's  death." 

"My  own  danger!"  said  the  girl,  frightened  and 
looking  hastily  round — "  avert  the  omen !  let  thy 
words  fall  on  thine  own  head !  "  And  the  girl,  as  she 
spoke,  touched  a  talisman  suspended  round  her  neck. 
"  '  Thine  own  danger ! '  what  danger  threatens  me  ?  " 

"  Had  the  earthquake  but  a  few  nights  since  no 
warning?  "  said  Medon.  "  Has  it  not  a  voice?  Did  it 
not  say  to  us  all,  'Prepare  for  death;  the  end  of  all 
things  is  at  hand  '  ?  " 

"Bah,  stuff!"  said  the  young  woman,  settling  the 
folds  of  her  tunic.  "  Now  thou  talkest  as  they  say  the 
Nazarenes  talk — methinks  thou  art  one  of  them.  Well, 
I  can  prate  with  thee,  grey  croaker,  no  more;  thou 
growest  worse  and  worse — Vale!  O  Hercules!  send 
us  a  man  for  the  lion — and  another  for  the  tiger ! 


252        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Ho !  ho !  for  the  merry,  merry  show, 
With  a  forest  of  faces  in  every  row ! 
Lo,  the  swordsmen,  bold  as  the  son  of  Alcmena, 
Sweep,  side  by  side,  o'er  the  hush'd  arena ; 
Talk  while  you  may — you  will  hold  your  breath 
When  they  meet  in  the  grasp  of  the  glowing  death. 
Tramp,  tramp,  how  gaily  they  go ! 
Ho !  ho !  for  the  merry,  merry  show !  " 


Chanting  in  a  silver  and  clear  voice  this  feminine 
ditty,  and  holding  up  her  tunic  from  the  dusty  road, 
the  young  woman  stepped  lightly  across  to  the  crowded 
hostelry. 

"  My  poor  son  !  "  said  the  slave,  half  aloud,  "  is  it  for 
things  like  this  thou  art  to  be  butchered?  Oh!  faith 
of  Christ,  I  could  worship  thee  in  all  sincerity,  were  it 
but  for  the  horror  which  thou  inspirest  for  these  bloody 
lists." 

The  old  man's  head  sank  dejectedly  on  his  breast. 
He  remained  silent  and  absorbed,  but  every  now  and 
then  with  the  corner  of  his  sleeve  he  wiped  his  eyes. 
His  heart  was  with  his  son ;  he  did  not  see  the  figure 
that  now  approached  from  the  gate  with  a  quick  step, 
and  a  somewhat  fierce  and  reckless  gait  and  carriage. 
He  did  not  lift  his  eyes  till  the  figure  paused  opposite 
the  place  where  he  sat,  and  with  a  soft  voice  addressed 
him  by  the  name  of — 

"  Father !  " 

"  My  boy !  my  Lydon !  is  it  indeed  thou  ?  "  said  the 
old  man,  joyfully.  "  Ah,  thou  wert  present  to  my 
thoughts." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  my  father,"  said  the  gladiator, 
respectfully  touching  the  knees  and  beard  of  the  slave ; 
"  and  soon  may  I  be  always  present  with  thee,  not  in 
thought  only." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        253 

"  Yes,  my  son — but  not  in  this  world,"  replied  the 
slave,  mournfully. 

"  Talk  not  thus,  O  my  sire !  look  cheerfully,  for  I 
feel  so — I  am  sure  that  I  shall  win  the  day ;  and  then, 
the  gold  I  gain  buys  thy  freedom.  Oh !  my  father,  it 
was  but  a  few  days  since  that  I  was  taunted,  by  one, 
too,  whom  I  would  gladly  have  undeceived,  for  he  is 
more  generous  than  the  rest  of  his  equals.  He  is  not 
Roman — he  is  of  Athens — by  him  I  was  taunted  with 
the  lust  of  gain — when  I  demanded  what  sum  was  the 
prize  of  victory.  Alas !  he  little  knew  the  soul  of  Ly- 
don!" 

"  My  boy !  my  boy !  "  said  the  old  slave,  as,  slowly 
ascending  the  steps,  he  conducted  his  son  to  his  own 
little  chamber  communicating  with  the  entrance  hall 
(which  in  this  villa  was  the  peristyle,  not  the  atrium: 
— you  may  see  it  now ;  it  is  the  third  door  to  the  right 
en  entering.  The  first  door  conducts  to  the  staircase ; 
the  second  is  but  a  false  recess,  in  which  there  stood  a 
statue  of  bronze).  "Generous,  affectionate,  pious  as 
are  thy  motives,"  said  Medon,  when  they  were  thus  se- 
cured from  observation,  "  thy  deed  itself  is  guilt :  thou 
art  to  risk  thy  blood  for  thy  father's  freedom — that 
might  be  forgiven ;  but  the  prize  of  victory  is  the  blood 
of  another.  Oh,  that  is  a  deadly  sin;  no  object  can 
purify  it.  Forbear ;  forbear !  rather  would  I  be  a  slave 
for  ever  than  purchase  liberty  on  such  terms !  " 

"  Hush,  my  father !  "  replied  Lydon,  somewhat  im- 
patiently ;  "  thou  hast  picked  up  in  this  new  creed  of 
thine,  of  which  I  pray  thee  not  to  speak  to  me,  for  the 
gods  that  gave  me  strength  denied  me  wisdom,  and  I 
understand  not  one  word  of  what  thou  often  preachest 
to  me — thou  hast  picked  up,  I  say,  in  this  new  creed, 
some  singular  fantasies  of  right  and  wrong.  Pardon 


254        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

me  if  I  offend  thee ;  but  reflect !  Against  whom  shall 
I  contend?  Oh!  couldst  thou  know  those  wretches 
with  whom,  for  thy  sake,  I  assort,  thou  wouldst  think 
I  purified  earth  by  removing  one  of  them.  Beasts, 
'  whose  very  lips  drop  blood ;  things,  all  savage,  un- 
principled in  their  very  courage:  ferocious,  heartless, 
senseless ;  no  tie  of  life  can  bind  them :  they  know  not 
fear,  it  is  true,  but  neither  know  they  gratitude,  nor 
charity,  nor  love ;  they  are  made  but  for  their  own  ca- 
reer, to  slaughter  without  pity ;  to  die  without  dread ! 
Can  thy  gods,  whosoever  they  be,  look  with  wrath  on 
a  conflict  with  such  as  these,  and  in  such  a  cause  ?  Oh, 
my  father,  wherever  the  powers  above  gaze  down  on 
earth,  they  behold  no  duty  so  sacred,  so  sanctifying,  as 
the  sacrifice  offered  to  an  aged  parent  by  the  piety  of  a 
grateful  son !  " 

The  poor  old  slave,  himself  deprived  of  the  lights  of 
knowledge,  and  only  late  a  convert  to  the  Christian 
faith,  knew  not  with  what  arguments  to  enlighten  an 
ignorance  at  once  so  dark  and  yet  so  beautiful  in  its 
error.  His  first  impulse  was  to  throw  himself  on  his 
son's  breast — his  next  to  start  away — to  wring  his 
hands ;  and  in  the  attempt  to  reprove,  his  broken  voice 
lost  itself  in  weeping. 

"  And  if,"  resumed  Lydon — "  if  thy  Deity  (me- 
thinks  thou  wilt  own  but  one?)  be  indeed  that  benevo- 
lent and  pitying  Power  which  thou  assertest  Him  to 
be,  He  will  know  also  that  thy  very  faith  in  Him  first 
confirmed  me  in  that  determination  thou  blamest." 

"  How !  what  mean  you  ?  "  said  the  slave. 

"  Why,  thou  knowest  that  I,  sold  in  my  childhood  as 
a  slave,  was  set  free  at  Rome  by  the  will  of  my  master, 
whom  I  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  please.  I  has- 
tened to  Pompeii  to  see  thee — I  found  thee  already 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        255 

aged  and  infirm,  under  the  yoke  of  a  capricious  and 
pampered  lord — thou  hadst  lately  adopted  this  new 
faith,  and  its  adoption  made  thy  slavery  doubly  painful 
to  thee;  it  took  away  all  the  softening  charm  of  cus- 
tom, which  reconciles  us  so  often  to  the  worst.  Didst 
thou  not  complain  to  me  that  thou  wert  compelled  to 
offices  that  were  not  odious  to  thee  as  a  slave,  but  guilty 
as  a  Nazarene?  Didst  thou  not  tell  me  that  thy  soul 
shook  with  remorse  when  thou  wert  compelled  to  place 
even  a  crumb  of  cake  before  the  Lares  that  watch  over 
yon  impluvium  ?  that  thy  soul  was  torn  by  a  perpetual 
struggle?  Didst  thou  not  tell  me  that  even  by  pour- 
ing wine  before  the  threshold,  and  calling  on  the  name 
of  some  Grecian  deity,  thou  didst  fear  thou  wert  in- 
curring penalties  worse  than  those  of  Tantalus,  an 
eternity  of  tortures  more  terrible  than  those  of  the 
Tartarian  fields  ?  Didst  thou  not  tell  me  this  ?  I  won- 
dered, I  could  not  comprehend ;  nor,  by  Hercules !  can 
I  now :  but  I  was  thy  son,  and  my  sole  task  was  to  com- 
passionate and  relieve.  Could  I  hear  thy  groans,  could 
I  witness  thy  mysterious  horrors,  thy  constant  anguish, 
and  remain  inactive  ?  No !  by  the  immortal  gods !  the 
thought  struck  me  like  light  from  Olympus!  I  had 
no  money,  but  I  had  strength  and  youth — these  were 
thy  gifts — I  could  sell  these  in  my  turn  for  thee!  I 
learned  the  amount  of  thy  ransom — I  learned  that  the 
usual  prize  of  a  victorious  gladiator  would  doubly  pay 
it.  I  became  a  gladiator — I  linked  myself  with  those 
accursed  men,  scorning,  loathing,  while  I  joined — I  ac- 
quired their  skill — blessed  be  the  lesson  ! — it  shall  teach 
me  to  free  my  father !  " 

"  Oh,  that  thou  couldst  hear  Olinthus !  "  sighed  the 
old  man,  more  and  more  affected  by  the  virtue  of  his 
son,  but  not  less  strongly  convinced  of  the  criminality 
of  his  purpose. 


2$6        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  I  will  hear  the  whole  world  talk  if  thou  wilt,"  an- 
swered the  gladiator  gaily ;  "  but  not  till  thou  art  a 
slave  no  more.  Beneath  thy  own  roof,  my  father,  thou 
shalt  puzzle  this  dull  brain  all  day  long,  ay,  and  all 
night  too,  if  it  give  thee  pleasure.  Oh,  such  a  spot  as  I 
have  chalked  out  for  thee ! — it  is  one  of  the  nine  hun- 
dred and  ninety-nine  shops  of  old  Julia  Felix,  in  the 
sunny  part  of  the  city,  where  thou  mayst  bask  before 
the  door  in  the  day — and  I  will  sell  the  oil  and  the  wine 
for  thee,  my  father — and  then,  please  Venus  (or  if  it 
does  not  please  her,  since  thou  lovest  not  her  name,  it 
is  all  one  to  Lydon ;) — then,  I  say,  perhaps  thou  mayst 
have  a  daughter,  too,  to  tend  thy  grey  hairs,  and  hear 
shrill  voices  at  thy  knee,  that  shall  call  thee  '  Lydon's 
father ! '  Ah !  we  shall  be  so  happy — the  prize  can  pur- 
chase all.  Cheer  thee !  cheer  up,  my  sire ! — And  now  I 
must  away — day  wears — the  lanista  waits  me.  Come ! 
thy  blessing !  " 

As  Lydon  thus  spoke,  he  had  already  quitted  the 
dark  chamber  of  his  father;  and  speaking  eagerly, 
though  in  a  whispered  tone,  they  now  stood  at  the 
same  place  in  which  we  introduced  the  porter  at  his 
post. 

"  O  bless  thee !  bless  thee,  my  brave  boy ! "  said 
Medon,  fervently ;  "  and  may  the  great  Power  that 
reads  all  hearts  see  the  nobleness  of  thine,  and  for- 
give its  error !  " 

The  tall  shape  of  the  gladiator  passed  swiftly  down 
the  path ;  the  eyes  of  the  slave  followed  its  light  but 
stately  steps,  till  the  last  glimpse  was  gone ;  and  then, 
sinking  once  more  on  his  seat,  his  eyes  again  fastened 
themselves  on  the  ground.  His  form,  mute  and  un- 
moving,  as  a  thing  of  stone.  His  heart! — who  in 
our  happier  age,  can  even  imagine  its  struggles — 
its  commotion? 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        257 

"  May  I  enter  ?  "  said  a  sweet  voice.  "  Is  thy  mis- 
tress Julia  within  ?  " 

The  slave  mechanically  motioned  to  the  visitor  to 
enter,  but  she  who  addressed  him  could  not  see  the 
gesture — she  repeated  her  question  timidly,  but  in  a 
louder  voice. 

"  Have  I  not  told  thee  ?  "  said  the  slave  peevishly : 
"  enter." 

"  Thanks,"  said  the  speaker,  plaintively ;  and  the 
slave,  roused  by  the  tone,  looked  up,  and  recognised 
the  blind  flower-girl.  Sorrow  can  sympathise  with 
affliction — he  raised  himself,  and  guided  her  steps  to 
the  head  of  the  adjacent  staircase  (by  which  you 
descended  to  Julia's  apartment),  where  summoning 
a  female  slave,  he  consigned  to  her  the  charge  of  the 
blind  girl. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  DRESSING-ROOM  OF  A  POMPEIAN  BEAUTY. — IMPORT- 
ANT CONVERSATION  BETWEEN  JULIA  AND  NYDIA. 

The  elegant  Julia  sat  in  her  chamber,  with  her 
slaves  around  her; — like  the  cubiculum  which  ad- 
joined it,  the  room  was  small,  but  much  larger  than 
the  usual  apartments  appropriated  to  sleep,  which 
were  so  diminutive,  that  few  who  have  not  seen  the 
bed-chambers,  even  in  the  gayest  mansions,  can  form 
any  notion  of  the  petty  pigeon-holes  in  which  the 
citizens  of  Pompeii  evidently  thought  it  desirable  to 
pass  the  night.  But,  in  fact,  "  bed  "  with  the  ancients 
was  not  that  grave,  serious,  important  part  of  domestic 
mysteries  which  it  is  with  us.  The  couch  itself  was 
more  like  a  very  narrow  and  small  sofa,  light  enough 
17 


258        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

to  be  transported  easily,  and  by  the  occupant  him- 
self,1 from  place  to  place ;  and  it  was,  no  doubt,  con- 
stantly shifted  from  chamber  to  chamber,  according 
to  the  caprices  of  the  inmate,  or  the  changes  of  the 
season ;  for  that  side  of  the  house  which  was  crowded 
in  one  month  might,  perhaps,  be  carefully  avoided  in 
the  next.  There  was  also  among  the  Italians  of  that 
period  a  singular  and  fastidious  apprehension  of  too 
much  daylight;  their  darkened  chambers,  which  first 
appear  to  us  the  result  of  a  negligent  architecture, 
were  the  effect  of  the  most  elaborate  study.  In  their 
porticoes  and  gardens  they  courted  the  sun  whenever 
it  so  pleased  their  luxurious  tastes.  In  the  interior 
of  their  houses  they  sought  rather  the  coolness  and 
the  shade. 

Julia's  apartment  at  that  season  was  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  house,  immediately  beneath  the  state 
rooms  above,  and  looking  upon  the  garden,  with 
which  it  was  on  a  level.  The  wide  door,  which  was 
glazed,  alone  admitted  the  morning  rays ;  yet  her  eye, 
accustomed  to  a  certain  darkness,  was  sufficiently 
acute  to  perceive  exactly  what  colours  were  the  most 
becoming — what  shade  of  the  delicate  rouge  gave  the 
brightest  beam  to  her  dark  glance,  and  the  most 
youthful  freshness  to  her  cheek. 

On  the  table,  before  which  she  sat,  was  a  small 
and  circular  mirror  of  the  most  polished  steel :  round 
which,  in  precise  order,  were  ranged  the  cosmetics 
and  the  unguents — the  perfumes  and  the  paints — the 
jewels  and  the  combs — the  ribands  and  the  gold  pins, 
which  were  destined  to  add  to  the  natural  attractions 
of  beauty  the  assistance  of  art  and  the  capricious 

1  "  Take  up  thy  bed  and  walk  "  was  (as  Sir  W.  Cell  some- 
where observes)  no  metaphorical  expression. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        259 

allurements  of  fashion.  Through  the  dimness  of  the 
room  glowed  brightly  the  yivid  and  various  colour- 
ings of  the  wall,  in  all  the  dazzling  frescoes  of  Pom- 
peian  taste.  Before  the  dressing-table,  and  under  the 
feet  of  Julia,  was  spread  a  carpet,  woven  from  the 
looms  of  the  East.  Near  at  hand,  on  another  table, 
was  a  silver  basin  and  ewer;  an  extinguished  lamp, 
of  most  exquisite  workmanship,  in  which  the  artist 
had  represented  a  Cupid  reposing  under  the  spread- 
ing branches  of  a  myrtle-tree ;  and  a  small  roll  of 
papyrus,  containing  the  softest  elegies  of  Tibullus. 
Before  the  door,  which  communicated  with  the  cu- 
biculum,  hung  a  curtain  richly  broidered  with  gold 
flowers.  Such  was  the  dressing-room  of  a  beauty 
eighteen  centuries  ago. 

The  fair  Julia  leaned  indolently  back  on  her  seat, 
while  the  ornatrix  (i.e.,  hairdresser)  slowly  piled,  one 
above  the  other,  a  mass  of  small  curls,  dexterously 
weaving  the  false  with  the  true,  and  carrying  the 
whole  fabric  to  a  height  that  seemed  to  place  the  head 
rather  at  the  centre  than  the  summit  of  the  human 
form. 

Her  tunic,  of  a  deep  amber,  which  well  set  off  her 
dark  hair  and  somewhat  embrowned  complexion, 
swept  in  ample  folds  to  her  feet,  which  were  cased  in 
slippers,  fastened  round  the  slender  ankle  by  white 
thongs ;  while  a  profusion  of  pearls  were  embroidered 
in  the  slipper  itself,  which  was  of  purple,  and  turned 
slightly  upward,  as  do  the  Turkish  slippers  at  this 
day.  An  old  slave,  skilled  by  long  experience  in  all 
the  arcana  of  the  toilet,  stood  beside  the  hairdresser, 
with  the  broad  and  studded  girdle  of  her  mistress 
over  her  arm,  and  giving,  from  time  to  time  (mingled 
with  judicious  flattery  to  the  lady  herself),  instruc- 
tions to  the  mason  of  the  ascending  pile. 


260        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Put  that  pin  rather  more  to  the  right — lower — 
stupid  one !  Do  you  not  observe  how  even  those 
beautiful  eyebrows  are? — One  would  think  you  were 
dressing  Corinna,  whose  face  is  all  of  one  side.  Now 
put  in  the  flowers — what,  fool! — not  that  dull  pink 
— you  are  not  suiting  colours  to  the  dim  cheek  of 
Chloris:  it  must  be  the  brightest  flowers  that  can 
alone  suit  the  cheek  of  the  young  Julia." 

"  Gently ! "  said  the  lady,  stamping  her  small  foot 
violently :  "  you  pull  my  hair  as  if  you  were  plucking 
up  a  weed !  " 

"  Dull  thing !  "  continued  the  directress  of  the 
ceremony.  "  Do  you  not  know  how  delicate  is  your 
mistress  ? — you  are  not  dressing  the  coarse  horsehair 
of  the  widow  Fulvia.  Now,  then,  the  riband — that's 
right.  Fair  Julia,  look  in  the  mirror ;  saw  you  ever 
anything  so  lovely  as  yourself  ?  " 

When,  after  innumerable  comments,  difficulties, 
and  delays,  the  intricate  tower  was  at  length  com- 
pleted, the  next  preparation  was  that  of  giving  to  the 
eyes  the  soft  languish,  produced  by  a  dark  powder 
applied  to  the  lids  and  brows;  a  small  patch  cut  in 
the  form  of  a  crescent,  skilfully  placed  by  the  rosy 
lips,  attracted  attention  to  their  dimples,  and  to  the 
teeth,  to  which  already  every  art  had  been  applied 
in  order  to  heighten  the  dazzle  of  their  natural  white- 
ness. 

To  another  slave,  hitherto  idle,  was  now  consigned 
the  charge  of  arranging  the  jewels — the  earrings  of 
pearl  (two  in  each  ear) — the  massive  bracelets  of  gold 
—the  chain  formed  of  rings  of  the  same  metal,  to 
which  a  talisman  cut  in  crystals  was  attached — the 
graceful  buckle  on  the  left  shoulder,  in  which  was  set 
an  exquisite  cameo  of  Psyche— the  girdle  of  purple 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        261 

riband,  richly  wrought  with  threads  of  gold,  and 
clasped  by  interlacing  serpents — and  lastly,  the  vari- 
ous rings,  fitted  to  every  joint  of  the  white  and  slender 
fingers.  The  toilet  was  now  arranged  according  to 
the  last  mode  of  Rome.  The  fair  Julia  regarded  her- 
self with  a  last  gaze  of  complacent  vanity,  and  reclin- 
ing again  upon  her  seat,  she  bade  the  youngest  of 
her  slaves,  in  a  listless  tone,  read  to  her  the  enam- 
oured couplets  of  Tibullus.  This  lecture  was  still  pro- 
ceeding, when  a  female  slave  admitted  Nydia  into  the 
presence  of  the  lady  of  the  place. 

"  Salve,  Julia !  "  said  the  flower-girl,  arresting  her 
steps  within  a  few  paces  from  the  spot  where  Julia 
sat,  and  crossing  her  arms  upon  her  breast.  "  I  have 
obeyed  your  commands." 

"  You  have  done  well,  flower-girl,"  answered  the 
lady.  "  Approach — you  may  take  a  seat." 

One  of  the  slaves  placed  a  stool  by  Julia,  and  Nydia 
seated  herself. 

Julia  looked  hard  at  the  Thessalian  for  some  mo- 
ments in  rather  an  embarrassed  silence.  She  then 
motioned  her  attendants  to  withdraw,  and  to  close 
the  door.  When  they  were  alone,  she  said,  looking 
mechanically  from  Nydia,  and  forgetful  that  she  was 
with  one  who  could  not  observe  her  countenance, — 

"  You  serve  the  Neapolitan,  lone  ?  " 

"  I  am  with  her  at  present,"  answered  Nydia. 

"  Is  she  as  handsome  as  they  say?" 

"  I  know  not,"  replied  Nydia.  "  How  can  1 
judge  ?  " 

"  Ah !  I  should  have  remembered.  But  thou  hast 
ears,  if  not  eyes.  Do  thy  fellow-slaves  tell  thee  she 
is  handsome  ?  Slaves  talking  with  one  another  forget 
to  flatter  even  their  mistress." 


262        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  They  tell  me  that  she  is  beautiful.'-' 

"  Hem ! — say  they  that  she  is  tall  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Why,  so  am  L— Dark-haired ?" 

"  I  have  heard  s6." 

"  So  am  I.    And  doth  Glaucus  visit  her  much?  " 

"  Daily,"  returned  Nydia,  with  a  half-suppressed 
sigh. 

"Daily,  indeed!     Does  he  find  her  handsome?" 

"  I  should  think  so,  since  they  are  so  soon  to  be 
wedded." 

"  Wedded !  "  cried  Julia,  turning  pale  even  through 
the  false  roses  on  her  cheek,  and  starting  from  her 
couch.  Nydia  did  not,  of  course,  perceive  the  emo- 
tion she  had  caused.  Julia  remained  a  long  time 
silent ;  but  her  heaving  breast  and  flashing  eyes  would 
have  betrayed,  to  one  who  could  have  seen,  the  wound 
her  vanity  had  sustained. 

"  They  tell  me  thou  art  a  Thessalian,"  said  she,  at 
last  breaking  silence. 

"  And  truly  !  " 

"  Thessaly  is  the  land  o'f  magic  and  of  witches,  of 
talismans  and  of  love-philtres,"  said  Julia. 

"  It  has  ever  been  celebrated  for  its  sorcerers,"  re- 
turned Nydia,  timidly. 

"  Knowest  thou,  then,  blind  Thessalian,  of  any  love- 
charms  ?  " 

"I!"  said  the  flower-girl,  colouring;  "II  how 
should  I  ?  No,  assuredly  not !  " 

"  The  worse  for  thee ;  I  could  have  given  thee  gold 
enough  to  have  purchased  thy  freedom  hadst  thou  been 
more  wise." 

"  But  what,"  asked  Nydia,  "  can  induce  the  beautiful 
and  wealthy  Julia  to  ask  that  question  of  her  servant? 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        263 

Has  she  not  money,  and  youth,  and  loveliness?  Are 
they  not  love-charms  enough  to  dispense  with  magic  ?  " 

"  To  all  but  one  person  in  the  world,"  answered 
Julia,  haughtily ;  "  but  methinks  thy  blindness  is  in- 
fectious ;  and But  no  matter." 

"  And  that  one  person  ?  "  said  Nydia,  eagerly. 

"  Is  not  Glaucus,"  replied  Julia,  with  the  customary 
deceit  of  her  sex.  "  Glaucus — no !  " 

Nydia  drew  her  breath  more  freely,  and  after  a  short 
pause  Julia  recommenced. 

"  But  talking  of  Glaucus,  and  his  attachment  to  this 
Neapolitan,  reminded  me  of  the  influence  of  love- 
spells,  which,  for  aught  I  know  or  care,  she  may  have 
exercised  upon  him.  Blind  girl,  I  love,  and — shall 
Julia  live  to  say  it? — am  loved  not  in  return!  This 
humbles — nay,  not  humbles — but  it  stings  my  pride.  I 
would  see  this  ingrate  at  my  feet — not  in  order  that 
I  might  raise,  but  that  I  might  spurn  him.  When  they 
told  me  thou  wert  Thessalian,  I  imagined  thy  young 
mind  might  have  learned  the  dark  secrets  of  thy 
clime." 

"  Alas  !  no,"  murmured  Nydia :  "  would  it  had !  " 

"  Thanks,  at  least,  for  that  kindly  wish,"  said  Julia, 
unconscious  of  what  was  passing  in  the  breast  of  the 
flower-girl. 

"  But  tell  me, — thou  hearest  the  gossip  of  slaves,  al- 
ways prone  to  these  dim  beliefs ;  always  ready  to  apply 
to  sorcery  for  their  own  low  loves, — hast  thou  ever 
heard  of  any  Eastern  magician  in  this  city,  who  pos- 
sesses the  art  of  which  thou  art  ignorant?  No  vain 
chiromancer,  no  juggler  of  the  market-place,  but  some 
more  potent  and  mighty  magician  of  India  or  of 
Egypt?" 

"  Of  Egypt  ?  —  yes  !  "  said  Nydia,  shuddering. 
"  What  Pompeian  has  not  heard  of  Arbaces  ?  " 


264        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Arbaces !  true,"  replied  Julia,  grasping  at  the  recol- 
lection. "  They  say  he  is  a  man  above  all  the  petty  and 
false  impostures  of  dull  pretenders, — that  he  is  versed 
in  the  learning  of  the  stars,  and  the  secrets  of  the  an- 
cient Nox ;  why  not  in  the  mysteries  of  love  ?  " 

"  If  there  be  one  magician  living  whose  art  is  above 
that  of  others,  it  is  that  dread  man,"  answered  Nydia ; 
and  she  felt  her  talisman  while  she  spoke. 

"  He  is  too  wealthy  to  divine  for  money?  "  contin- 
ued Julia.,  sneeringly.  "  Can  I  not  visit  him?  " 

"  It  is  an  evil  mansion  for  the  young  and  the  beauti- 
ful," replied  Nydia.  "  I  have  heard,  too,  that  he  lan- 
guishes in " 

"  An  evil  mansion !  "  said  Julia,  catching  only  the 
first  sentence.  "  Why  so  ?  " 

"  The  orgies  of  his  midnight  leisure  are  impure  and 
polluted — at  least,  so  says  rumour." 

"  By  Ceres,  by  Pan,  and  by  Cybele !  thou  dost  but 
provoke  my  curiosity,  instead  of  exciting  my  fears," 
returned  the  wayward  and  pampered  Pompeian.  "  I 
will  seek  and  question  him  of  his  lore.  If  to  these 
orgies  love  be  admitted — why,  the  more  likely  that  he 
knows  its  secrets !  " 

Nydia  did  not  answer. 

"  I  will  seek  him  this  very  day,"  resumed  Julia ; 
"  nay,  why  not  this  very  hour?  " 

"  At  daylight,  and  in  his  present  state,  thou  hast  as- 
suredly the  less  to  fear,"  answered  Nydia,  yielding  to 
her  own  sudden  and  secret  wish  to  learn  if  the  dark 
Egyptian  were  indeed  possessed  of  those  spells  to  rivet 
and  attract  love,  of  which  the  Thessalian  .had  so  often 
heard. 

"  And  who  would  dare  insult  the  rich  daughter  of 
Diomed  ?  "  said  Julia,,  haughtily.  "  I  will  go." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        265 

"  May  I  visit  thee  afterwards  to  learn  the  result  ?  " 
asked  Nydia,  anxiously. 

"  Kiss  me  for  thy  interest  in  Julia's  honour,"  an- 
swered the  lady.  "  Yes,  assuredly.  This  eve  we  sup 
abroad — come  hither  at  the  same  hour  to-morrow,  and 
thou  shalt  know  all:  I  may  have  to  employ  thee  too; 
but  enough  for  the  present.  Stay,  take  this  bracelet  for 
the  new  thought  thou  hast  inspired  me  with ;  remem- 
ber, if  thou  servest  Julia,  she  is  grateful  and  she  is  gen- 
erous." 

"  I  cannot  take  thy  present,"  said  Nydia,  putting 
aside  the  bracelet ;  "  but  young  as  I  am,  I  can  sympa- 
thise unbought  with  those  who  love — and  love  in  vain." 

"  Sayest  thou  so  ?  "  returned  Julia.  "  Thou  speakest 
like  a  free  woman — and  thou  shalt  yet  be  free — fare- 
well!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JULIA    SEEKS    ARBACES. THE    RESULT    OF    THAT 

INTERVIEW. 

Arbaces  was  seated  in  a  chamber  which  opened  on  a 
kind  of  balcony  or  portico  that  fronted  his  garden.  His 
cheek  was  pale  and  worn  with  the  sufferings  he  had 
endured,  but  his  iron  frame  had  already  recovered  from 
the  severest  effects  of  that  accident  which  had  frus- 
trated his  fell  designs  in  the  moment  of  victory.  The 
air  that  came  fragrantly  to  his  brow  revived  his  lan- 
guid senses,  and  the  blood  circulated  more  freely  than 
it  had  done  for  days  through  his  shrunken  veins. 

"  So,  then,"  thought  he,  "  the  storm  of  fate  has 
broken  and  blown  over, — the  evil  which  my  lore  pre- 
dicted, threatening  life  itself,  has  chanced — and  yet  I 


366        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

live !  It  came  as  the  stars  foretold ;  and  now  the  long, 
bright,  and  prosperous  career  which  was  to  succeed 
that  evil,  if  I  survive  it,  smiles  beyond:  I  have  passed 
— I  have  subdued  the  latest  danger  of  my  destiny. 
Now  I  have  but  to  lay  out  the  gardens  of  my  future 
fate — unterrified  and  secure.  First,  then,  of  all  my 
pleasures,  even  before  that  of  love,  shall  come  re- 
venge !  This  boy  Greek — who  has  crossed  my  passion 
— thwarted  my  designs — baffled  me  even  when  the 
blade  was  about  to  drink  his  accursed  blood — shall  not 
a  second  time  escape  me!  But  for  the  method  of  my 
vengeance  ?  Of  that  let  me  ponder  well !  Oh !  Ate-,  if 
thou  art  indeed  a  goddess,  fill  me  with  thy  direst  in- 
spiration !  "  The  Egyptian  sank  into  an  intent  reverie, 
which  did  not  seem  to  present  to  him  any  clear  or  satis- 
factory suggestions.  He  changed  his  position  rest- 
lessly, as  he  revolved  scheme  after  scheme,  which  no 
sooner  occurred  than  it  was  dismissed ;  several  times 
he  struck  his  breast  and  groaned  aloud,  with  the  de- 
sire of  vengeance,  and  a  sense  of  his  impotence  to  ac- 
complish it.  While  thus  absorbed,  a  boy-slave  timidly 
entered  the  chamber. 

A  female,  evidently  of  rank  from  her  dress,  and  that 
of  the  single  slave  who  attended  her,  waited  below,  and 
sought  an  audience  with  Arbaces. 

"  A  female !  "  his  heart  beat  quick.  "  Is  she  young?  " 

"  Her  face  is  concealed  by  her  veil ;  but  her  form  is 
slight,  yet  round,  as  that  of  youth." 

"  Admit  her,"  said  the  Egyptian ;  for  a  moment  his 
vain  heart  dreamed  the  stranger  might  be  lone. 

The  first  glance  of  the  visitor  now  entering  the  apart- 
ment sufficed  to  undeceive  so  erring  a  fancy.  True, 
she  was  about  the  same  height  as  lone,  and  perhaps 
the  same  age — true,  she  was  finely  and  richly  formed 


Arbaces  the  Egyptian. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        267 

— but  where  was  that  undulating  and  ineffable  grace 
which  accompanied  every  motion  of  the  peerless  Nea- 
politan— the  chaste  and  decorous  garb,  so  simple  even 
in  the  care  of  its  arrangement — the  dignified  yet  bash- 
ful step — the  majesty  of  womanhood  and  its  modesty? 

"  Pardon  me  that  I  rise  with  pain,"  said  Arbaces, 
gazing  on  the  stranger :  "  I  am  still  suffering  from  re- 
cent illness." 

"  Do  not  disturb  thyself,  O  great  Egyptian !  "  re- 
turned Julia,  seeking  to  disguise  the  fear  she  already 
experienced  beneath  the  ready  resort  of  flattery;  "  and 
forgive  an  unfortunate  female,  who  seeks  consolation 
from  thy  wisdom." 

"  Draw  near,  fair  stranger,"  said  Arbaces ;  "  and 
speak  without  apprehension  or  reserve." 

Julia  placed  herself  on  a  seat  beside  the  Egyptian, 
and  wonderingly  gazed  around  an  apartment  whose 
elaborate  and  costly  luxuries  shamed  even  the  ornate 
enrichment  of  her  father's  mansion ;  fearfully,  too,  she 
regarded  the  hieroglyphical  inscriptions  on  the  walls — 
the  faces  of  the  mysterious  images,  which  at  every  cor- 
ner gazed  upon  her — the  tripod  at  a  little  distance — 
and,  above  all,  the  grave  and  remarkable  countenance 
of  Arbaces  himself.  A  long  white  robe  like  a  veil  half 
covered  his  raven  locks,  and  flowed  to  his  feet :  his  face 
was  made  even  more  impressive  by  its  present  paleness ; 
and  his  dark  and  penetrating  eyes  seemed  to  pierce  the 
shelter  of  her  veil,  and  explore  the  secrets  of  her  vain 
and  unfeminine  soul. 

"  And  what,"  said  his  low,  deep  voice,  "  brings  thee, 
O  maiden !  to  the  house  of  the  Eastern  stranger?  " 

"  His  fame,"  replied  Julia. 

"  In  what  ?  "  said  he,  with  a  strange  and  slight  smile. 

"  Canst  thou  ask,  O  wise  Arbaces  ?  Is  not  thy  knowl- 
edge the  very  gossip  theme  of  Pompeii  ?  " 


268        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Some  little  lore  have  I,  indeed,  treasured  up,"  re- 
plied Arbaces ;  "  but  in  what  can  such  serious  and 
sterile  secrets  benefit  the  ear  of  beauty  ?  " 

"  Alas !  "  said  Julia,  a  little  cheered  by  the  accus- 
tomed accents  of  adulation ;  "  does  not  sorrow  fly  to 
wisdom  for  relief,  and  they  who  love  unrequitedly,  are 
not  they  the  chosen  victims  of  grief  ?  " 

"  Ha !  "  said  Arbaces,  "  can  unrequited  love  be  the 
lot  of  so  fair  a  form,  whose  modelled  proportions  are 
visible  even  beneath  the  Tolds  of  thy  graceful  robe? 
Deign,  O  maiden !  to  lift  thy  veil,  that  I  may  see  at 
least  if  the  face  correspond  in  loveliness  with  the  form." 

Not  unwilling,  perhaps,  to  exhibit  her  charms,  and 
thinking  they  were  likely  to  interest  the  magician  in 
her  fate,  Julia,  after  some  slight  hesitation,  raised  her 
veil,  and  revealed  a  beauty,  which,  but  for  art,  had  been 
indeed  attractive  to  the  fixed  gaze  of  the  Egyptian. 

"  Thou  comest  to  me  for  advice  in  unhappy  love," 
said  he ;  "  well,  turn  that  face  on  the  ungrateful  one : 
what  other  love-charm  can  I  give  thee  ?  " 

"  Oh,  cease  these  courtesies !  "  said  Julia ;  "  it  is  a 
love-charm,  indeed,  that  I  would  ask  from  thy  skill." 

"  Fair  stranger !  "  replied  Arbaces,  somewhat  scorn- 
fully, "  love-spells  are  not  among  the  secrets  I  have 
wasted  the  midnight  oil  to  attain." 

"  Is  it  indeed  so  ?  Then  pardon  me,  great  Arbaces, 
and  farewell !  " 

"  Stay,"  said  Arbaces,  who  despite  his  passion  for 
lone,  was  not  unmoved  by  the  beauty  of  his  visitor; 
and  had  he  been  in  the  flush  of  a  more  assured  health, 
might  have  attempted  to  console  the  fair  Julia  by  other 
means  than  those  of  supernatural  wisdom, — "  stay ;  al- 
though that  I  confess  I  have  left  the  witchery  of  phil- 
tres and  potions  to  those  whose  trade  is  in  such  knowl- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        269 

edge,  yet  am  I  myself  not  so  dull  to  beauty  but  that  in 
earlier  youth  I  may  have  employed  them  in  my  own 
behalf.  I  may  give  thee  advice,  at  least,  if  thou  wilt  be 
candid  with  me.  Tell  me  then,  first,  art  thou  unmar- 
ried, as  thy  dress  betokens  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Julia. 

"  And,  being  unblest  with  fortune,  wouldst  thou 
allure  some  wealthy  suitor  ?  " 

"  I  am  richer  than  he  who  disdains  me." 

"  Strange  and  more  strange !  And  thou  lovest  him 
who  loves  not  thee  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  if  I  love  him,"  answered  Julia,  haugh- 
tily ;  "  but  I  know  that  I  would  see  myself  triumph  over 
a  rival — I  would  see  him  who  rejected  me  my  suitor — 
I  would  see  her  whom  he  has  preferred  in  her  turn 
despised." 

"  A  natural  ambition  and  a  womanly,"  said  the 
Egyptian,  in  a  tone  too  grave  for  irony.  "  Yet  more, 
fair  maiden ;  wilt  thou  confide  to  me  the  name  of  thy 
lover  ?  Can  he  be  Pompeian,  and  despise  wealth,  even 
if  blind  to  beauty  ?  " 

"  He  is  of  Athens,"  answered  Julia,  looking  down. 

"  Ha ! "  cried  the  Egyptian,  impetuously,  as  the 
blood  rushed  to  his  cheek ;  "  there  is  but  one  Athenian, 
young  and  noble,  in  Pompeii.  Can  it  be  Glaucus  of 
whom  thou  speakest !  " 

"  Ah !  betray  me  not — so  indeed  they  call  him." 

The  Egyptian  sank  back,  gazing  vacantly  on  the 
averted  face  of  the  merchant's  daughter,  and  muttering 
inly  to  himself: — this  conference,  with  which  he  had 
hitherto  only  trifled,  amusing  himself  with  the  credu- 
lity and  vanity  of  his  visitor — might  it  not  minister  to 
his  revenge? 

"  I  see  thou  canst  assist  me  not,"  said  Julia,  offended 


270        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

by  his  continued  silence ;  "  guard  at  least  my  secret. 
Once  more  farewell !  " 

"  Maiden,"  said  the  Egyptian,  in  an  earnest  and  se- 
rious tone,  "  thy  suit  hath  touched  me — I  will  minister 
to  thy  will.  Listen  to  me ;  I  have  not  myself  dabbled 
in  these  lesser  mysteries,  but  I  know  one  who  hath.  At 
the  base  of  Vesuvius,  less  than  a  league  from  the  city, 
there  dwells  a  powerful  witch ;  beneath  the  rank  dews, 
of  the  new  moon,  she  has  gathered  the  herbs  which 
possess  the  virtue  to  chain  Love  in  eternal  fetters.  Her 
art  can  bring  thy  lover  to  thy  feet.  Seek  her,  and  men- 
tion to  her  the  name  of  Arbaces ;  she  fears  that  name, 
and  will  give  thee  her  most  potent  philtres." 

"  Alas !  "  answered  Julia,  "  I  know  not  the  road  to 
the  home  of  her  whom  thou  speakest  of :  the  way,  short 
though  it  be,  is  long  to  traverse  for  a  girl  who  leaves, 
unknown,  the  house  of  her  father.  The  country  is 
entangled  with  wild  vines,  and  dangerous  with  pre- 
cipitous caverns.  I  dare  not  trust  to  mere  strangers  to 
guide  me  ;  the  reputation  of  women  of  my  rank  is  easily 
tarnished — and  though  I  care  not  who  knows  that  I 
love  Glaucus,  I  would  not  have  it  imagined  that  I  ob- 
tained his  love  by  a  spell." 

"  Were  I  but  three  days  advanced  in  health,"  said 
the  Egyptian,  rising  and  walking  (as  if  to  try  his 
strength)  across  the  chamber,  but  with  irregular  and 
feeble  steps,  "  I  myself  would  accompany  thee. — Well, 
thou  must  wait." 

"  But  Glaucus  is  soon  to  wed  that  hated  Neapolitan*" 

"  Wed !  " 

"  Yes ;  in  the  early  part  of  next  month." 

"  So  soon !    Art  thou  well  advised  of  this  ?  " 

"  From  the  lips  of  her  own  slave." 

"  It  shall  not  be !  "  said  the  Egyptian,  impetuously. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        271 

"  Fear  nothing,  Glaucus  shall  be  thine.  Yet  how,  when 
thou  obtainest  it,  canst  thou  administer  to  him  this 
potion  ?  " 

"  My  father  has  invited  him,  and,  I  believe  the  Nea- 
politan also,  to  a  banquet,  on  the  day  following  to- 
morrow ;  I  shall  then  have  the  opportunity  to  admin- 
ister it." 

"  So  be  it ! "  said  the  Egyptian,  with  eyes  flashing 
such  fierce  joy,  that  Julia's  gaze  sank  trembling  be- 
neath them.  "  To-morrow  eve,  then,  order  thy  litter : 
— thou  hast  one  at  thy  command  ?  " 

"  Surely — yes,"  returned  the  purse-proud  Julia. 

"  Order  thy  litter — at  two  miles'  distance  from  the 
city  is  a  house  of  entertainment,  frequented  by  the 
wealthier  Pompeians,  from  the  excellence  of  its  baths, 
.and  the  beauty  of  its  gardens.  There  canst  thou  pre- 
tend only  to  shape  thy  course — there,  ill  or  dying,  I 
will  meet  thee  by  the  statue  of  Silenus,  in  the  copse 
that  skirts  the  garden,  and  I  myself  will  guide  thee  to 
the  witch.  Let  us  wait  till,  with  the  evening  star,  the 
goats  of  the  herdsmen  are  gone  to  rest ;  when  the  dark 
twilight  conceals  us,  and  none  shall  cross  our  steps.  Go 
home,  and  fear  not.  By  Hades,  swears  Arbaces,  the 
sorcerer  of  Egypt,  that  lone  shall  never  wed  with 
Glaucus !  " 

"  And  that  Glaucus  shall  be  mine  ?  "  added  Julia,  fill- 
ing up  the  incompleted  sentence. 

"  Thou  hast  said  it ! "  replied  Arbaces ;  and  Julia, 
half  frightened  at  this  unhallowed  appointment,  but 
urged  on  by  jealousy  and  the  pique  of  rivalship,  even 
more  than  love,  resolved  to  fulfil  it. 

Left  alone,  Arbaces  burst  forth, — 

"  Bright  stars  that  never  lie,  ye  already  begin  the 
execution  of  your  promises — success  in  love,  and  vie- 


272        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

tory  over  foes,  for  the  rest  of  my  smooth  existence.  In 
the  very  hour  when  my  mind  could  devise  no  clew  to 
the  goal  of  vengeance,  have  ye  sent  this  fair  fool  for 
my  guide !  "  He  paused  in  deep  thought.  "  Yes,"  said 
he  again,  but  in  a  calmer  voice ;  "  I  could  not  myself 
have  given  to  her  the  poison,  that  shall  be  indeed  a 
philtre ! — his  death  might  be  thus  tracked  to  my  door. 
But  the  witch — ay,  there  is  the  fit,  the  natural  agent  of 
my  designs !  " 

He  summoned  one  of  his  slaves,  bade  him  hasten  to 
track  the  steps  of  Julia,  and  acquaint  himself  with  her 
name  and  condition.  This  done,  he  stepped  forth  into 
the  portico.  The  skies  were  serene  and  clear;  but  he, 
deeply  read  in  the  signs  of  their  various  change,  beheld 
in  one  mass  of  cloud,  far  on  the  horizon,  which  the 
wind  began  slowly  to  agitate,  that  a  storm  was  brood- 
ing above. 

"  It  is  like  my  vengeance,"  said  he  as  he  gazed ;  "  the 
sky  is  clear,  but  the  cloud  moves  on." 


CHAPTER   IX 

A   STORM    IN   THE   SOUTH'. — THE   WITCHES   CAVERN. 

It  was  when  the  heats  of  noon  died  gradually  away 
from  the  earth,  that  Glaucus  and  lone  went  forth  to 
enjoy  the  cooled  and  grateful  air.  At  that  time,  va- 
rious carriages  were  in  use  among  the  Romans;  the 
one  most  used  by  the  richer  citizens,  when  they  re- 
quired no  companion  in  their  excursions,  was  the  biga, 
already  described  in  the  early  portion  of  this  work ; 
that  appropriated  to  the  matrons  was  termed  carpen- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        273 

turn,1  which  had  commonly  two  wheels;  the  ancients 
used  also  a  sort  of  litter,  a  vast  sedan-chair,  more  com- 
modiously  arranged  than  the  modern,  inasmuch  as  the 
occupant  thereof  could  lie  down  at  ease,  instead  of 
being  perpendicularly  and  stiffly  jostled  up  and  down.2 
There  was  another  carriage,  used  both  for  travelling 
and  for  excursions  in  the  country ;  it  was  commodious, 
containing  three  or  four  persons  with  ease,  having  a 
covering  which  could  be  raised  at  pleasure;  and,  in 
short,  answering  very  much  the  purpose  of  (though 
very  different  in  shape  from)  the  modern  britska.  It 
was  a  vehicle  of  this  description  that  the  lovers,  ac- 
companied by  one  female  slave  of  lone,  now  used  in 
their  excursion.  About  ten  miles  from  the  city,  there 
was  at  that  day  an  old  ruin,  the  remains  of  a  temple, 
evidently  Grecian ;  and  as  for  Glaucus  and  lone  every- 
thing Grecian  possessed  an  interest,  they  had  agreed  to 
visit  these  ruins :  it  was  thither  they  were  now  bound. 
Their  road  lay  among  vines  and  olive-groves ;  till, 
winding  more  and  more  towards  the  higher  ground 
of  Vesuvius,  the  path  grew  rugged ;  the  mules  moved 
slowly,  and  with  labour;  and  at  every  opening  in  the 
wood. they  beheld  those  grey  and  horrent  caverns  in- 
denting the  parched  rock,  which  Strabo  has  described ; 
but  which  the  various  revolutions  of  time  and  the  vol- 
cano have  removed  from  the  present  aspect  of  the 
mountain.  The  sun,  sloping  towards  his  descent,  cast 
long  and  deep  shadows  over  the  mountain ;  here  and 
there  they  still  heard  the  rustic  reed  of  the  shepherd 
amongst  copses  of  the  beechwood  and  wild  oak.  Some- 
times they  marked  the  form  of  the  silk-haired  and 

1  For  public  festivals  and  games  they  used  one  more  lux- 
urious and  costly,  called  pilentum,  with  four  wheels. 

2  But  they  had  also  the  sella,  or  sedan,  in  which  they  sat  as 
we  do. 

18 


274        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

graceful  capella,  with  its  wreathing  horn  and  bright 
grey  eye — which,  still  beneath  Ausonian  skies,  recalls 
the  eclogues  of  Maro,  browsing  half-way  up  the  hills ; 
and  the  grapes,  already  purple  with  the  smiles  of  the 
deepening  summer,  glowed  out  from  the  arched  fes- 
toons, which  hung  pendent  from  tree  to  tree.  Above 
them,  light  clouds  floated  in  the  serene  heavens,  sweep- 
ing so  slowly  athwart  the  firmament  that  they  scarcely 
seemed  to  stir ;  while,  on  their  right  they  caught,  ever 
and  anon,  glimpses  of  the  waveless  sea,  with  some  light 
bark  skimming  its  surface ;  and  the  sunlight  breaking 
ever  the  deep  in  those  countless  and  softest  hues  so 
peculiar  to  that  delicious  sea. 

"  How  beautiful !  "  said  Glaucus,  in  a  half-whispered 
tone,  "  is  that  expression  by  which  we  call  Earth  our 
Mother!  With  what  a  kindly  equal  love  she  pours 
her  blessings  upon  her  children !  and  even  to  those 
sterile  spots  to  which  Nature  has  denied  beauty,  she 
yet  contrives  to  dispense  her  smiles :  witness  the  ar- 
butus and  the  vine,  which  she  wreathes  over  the  arid 
and  burning  soil  of  yon  extinct  volcano.  Ah !  in  such 
an  hour  and  scene  as  this,  well  might  we  imagine  that 
the  laughing  face  of  the  Faun  should  peep  forth  from 
those  green  festoons ;  or,  that  we  might  trace  the  steps 
of  the  Mountain  Nymph  through  the  thickest  mazes 
of  the  glade.  But  the  Nymphs  ceased,  beautiful  lone, 
when  thou  wert  created !  " 

There  is  no  tongue  that  flatters  like  a  lover's;  and 
yet,  in  the  exaggeration  of  his  feelings,  flattery  seems 
to  him  commonplace.  Strange  and  prodigal  exuber- 
ance, which  soon  exhausts  itself  by  overflowing ! 

They  arrived  at  the  ruins ;  they  examined  them  with 
that  fondness  with  which  we  trace  the  hallowed  and 
household  vestiges  of  our  own  ancestry — they  lingered 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        275 

there  till  Hesperus  appeared  in  the  rosy  heavens ;  and 
then  returning  homeward  in  the  twilight,  they  were 
more  silent  than  they  had  been ;  for  in  the  shadow  and 
beneath  the  stars  they  felt  more  oppressively  their  mu- 
tual love. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  storm  which  the  Egyp- 
tian had  predicted  began  to  creep  invisibly  over  them. 
At  first,  a  low  and  distant  thunder  gave  warning  of  the 
approaching  conflict  of  the  elements ;  and  then  rapidly 
rushed  above  the  dark  ranks  of  the  serried  clouds.  The 
suddenness  of  storms  in  that  climate  is  something  al- 
most preternatural,  and  might  well  suggest  to  early 
superstition  the  notion  of  a  divine  agency — a  few  large 
drops  broke  heavily  among  the  boughs  that  half  over- 
hung their  path,  and  then,  swift  and  intolerably  bright 
the  forked  lightning  darted  across  their  very  eyes,  and 
was  swallowed  up  by  the  increasing  darkness. 

"  Swifter,  good  Carrucarius !  "  cried  Glaucus  to  the 
driver ;  "  the  tempest  comes  on  apace." 

The  slave  urged  on  the  mules — they  went  swift  over 
the  uneven  and  stony  road — the  clouds  thickened,  near 
and  more  near  broke  the  thunder,  and  fast  rushed  the 
dashing  rain. 

"  Dost  thou  fear  ?  "  whispered  Glaucus,  as  he  sought 
excuse  in  the  storm  to  come  nearer  to  lone. 

"  Not  with  thee,"  said  she,  softly. 

At  that  instant,  the  carriage,  fragile  and  ill-contrived 
(as,  despite  their  graceful  shapes,  were,  for  practical 
uses  most  of  such  inventions  at  that  time),  struck  vio- 
lently into  a  deep  rut,  over  which  lay  a  log  of  fallen 
wood ;  the  driver,  with  a  curse,  stimulated  his  mules 
yet  faster  for  the  obstacle,  the  wheel  was  torn  from-  the 
socket,  and  the  carriage  suddenly  overset. 

Glaucus,  quickly  extricating  himself  from  the  ve- 


276        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

hide,  hastened  to  assist  lone,  who  was  fortunately  un- 
hurt; with  some  difficulty  they  raised  the  carruca  (or 
carriage),  and  found  that  it  ceased  any  longer  even  to 
afford  them  shelter ;  the  springs  that  fastened  the  cov- 
ering were  snapped  asunder,  and  the  rain  poured  fast 
and  fiercely  into  the  interior. 

In  this  dilemma,  what  was  to  be  done  ?  They  were 
yet  some  distance  from  the  city — no  house,  no  aid, 
seemed  near. 

"  There  is,"  said  the  slave,  "  a  smith  about  a  mile 
off ;  I  could  seek  him,  and  he  might  fasten  at  least  the 
wheel  to  the  carruca — but  Jupiter !  how  the  rain  beats ! 
my  mistress  will  be  wet  before  I  come  back." 

"  Run  thither  at  least,"  said  Glaucus ;  "  we  must  find 
the  best  shelter  we  can  till  you  return." 

The  lane  was  overshadowed  with  trees,  beneath  the 
amplest  of  which  Glaucus  drew  lone.  He  endeav- 
oured, by  stripping  his  own  cloak,  to  shield  her  yet 
more  from  the  rapid  rain ;  but  it  descended  with  a  fury 
that  broke  through  all  puny  obstacles:  and  suddenly, 
while  Glaucus  was  yet  whispering  courage  to  his  beau- 
tiful charge,  the  lightning  struck  one  of  the  trees  im- 
mediately before  them,  and  split  with  a  mighty  crash 
its  huge  trunk  in  twain.  This  awful  incident  apprised 
them  of  the  danger  they  braved  in  their  present  shelter, 
and  Glaucus  looked  anxiously  round  for  some  less  per- 
ilous place  of  refuge.  "  We  are  now,"  said  he,  "  half- 
way up  the  ascent  of  Vesuvius ;  there  ought  to  be  some 
cavern,  or  hollow  in  the  vine-clad  rocks,  could  we  but 
find  it,  in  which  the  deserting  Nymphs  have  left  a  shel- 
ter." While  thus  saying,  he  moved  from  the  trees,  and, 
looking  wistfully  towards  the  mountain,  discovered 
through  the  advancing  gloom  a  red  and  tremulous  light 
at  no  considerable  distance.  "  That  must  come,"  said 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        277 

he,  "  from  the  hearth  of  some  shepherd  or  vine-dresser 
— it  will  guide  us  to  some  hospitable  retreat.  Wilt  thou 
stay  here,  while  I — yet  no — that  would  be  to  leave  thee 
to  danger." 

"  I  will  go  with  you  cheerfully,"  said  lone.  "  Open 
as  the  space  seems,  it  is  better  than  the  treacherous 
shelter  of  these  boughs." 

Half  leading,  half  carrying  lone,  Glaucus,  accom- 
panied by  the  trembling  female  slave,  advanced  tow- 
ards the  light,  which  yet  burned  red  and  steadfastly. 
At  length  the  space  was  no  longer  open ;  wild  vines  en- 
tangled their  steps,  and  hid  from  them,  save  by  imper- 
fect intervals,  the  guiding  beam.  But  faster  and  fiercer 
came  the  rain,  and  the  lightning  assumed  its  most 
deadly  and  blasting  form;  they  were  still,  therefore, 
impelled  onward,  hoping  at  last,  if  the  light  eluded 
them,  to  arrive  at  some  cottage  or  some  friendly  cavern. 
The  vines  grew  more  and  more  intricate — the  light  was 
entirely  snatched  from  them ;  but  a  narrow  path,  which 
they  trod  with  labour  and  pain,  guided  only  by  the  con- 
stant and  long-lingering  flashes  of  the  storm,  contin- 
ued to  lead  them  towards  its  direction.  The  rain  ceased 
suddenly ;  precipitous  and  rough  crags  of  scorched  lava 
frowned  before  them,  rendered  more  fearful  by  the 
lightning  that  illumined  the  dark  and  dangerous  soil. 
Sometimes  the  blaze  lingered  over  the  iron-grey  heaps 
of  scoria,  covered  in  part  with  ancient  mosses  or 
stunted  trees,  as  if  seeking  in  vain  for  some  gentler 
product  of  earth  more  worthy  of  its  ire ;  and  sometimes 
leaving  the  whole  of  that  part  of  the  scene  in  darkness, 
the  lightning,  broad  and  sheeted,  hung  redly  over  the 
ocean,  tossing  far  below,  until  its  waves  seemed  glow- 
ing into  fire ;  and  so  intense  was  the  blaze,  that  it 
brought  vividly  into  view  even  the  sharp  outline  of  the 


278        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

more  distant  windings  of  the  bay,  from  the  eternal 
Misenum,  with  its  lofty  brow,  to  the  beautiful  Soren- 
tum  and  the  giant  hills  behind. 

Our  lovers  stopped  in  perplexity  and  doubt,  when 
suddenly  as  the  darkness  that  gloomed  between  the 
fierce  flashes  of  lightning  once  more  wrapped  them 
round,  they  saw  near,  but  high,  before  them,  the  mys- 
terious light.  Another  blaze,  in  which  heaven  and 
earth  were  reddened,  made  visible  to  them  the  whole 
expanse :  no  house  was  near,  but  just  where  they  had 
beheld  the  light,  they  thought  they  saw  in  the  recess  of 
a  cavern  the  outline  of  a  human  form.  The  darkness 
once  more  returned ;  the  light,  no  longer  paled  beneath 
the  fires  of  heaven,  burned  forth  again :  they  resolved 
to  ascend  towards  it ;  they  had  to  wind  their  way  among 
vast  fragments  of  stone,  here  and  there  overhung  with 
wild  bushes ;  but  they  gained  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
light,  and  at  length  they  stood  opposite  the  mouth  of 
a  kind  of  cavern,  apparently  formed  by  huge  splinters 
of  rock  that  had  fallen  transversely  athwart  each  other : 
and,  looking  into  the  gloom,  each  drew  back  involun- 
tarily with  a  superstitious  fear  and  chill. 

A  fire  burned  in  a  far  recess  of  the  cave ;  and  over  it 
was  a  small  cauldron ;  on  a  tall  and  thin  column  of  iron 
stood  a  rude  lamp;  over  that  part  of  the  wall,  at  the 
base  of  which  burned  the  fire,  hung  in  many  rows,  as 
if  to  dry,  a  profusion  of  herbs  and  weeds.  A  fox, 
crouched  before  the  fire,  gazed  upon  the  strangers  with 
its  bright  and  red  eye — its  hair  bristling — and  a  low 
growl  stealing  from  between  its  teeth ;  in  the  centre  of 
the  cave  was  an  earthen  statue,  which  had  three  heads 
of  a  singular  and  fantastic  cast :  they  were  formed  by 
the  real  skulls  of  a  dog,  a  horse,  and  a  boar;  a  low 
tripod  stood  before  this  wild  representation  of  the 
popular  Hecate. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        279 

But  it  was  not  these  appendages  and  appliances  of 
the  cave  that  thrilled  the  blood  of  those  who  gazed  fear- 
fully therein — it  was  the  face  of  its  inmate.  Before 
the  fire,  with  the  light  shining  full  upon  her  features, 
sat  a  woman  of  considerable  age.  Perhaps  in  no  coun- 
try are  there  seen  so  many  hags  as  in  Italy — in  no 
country  does  beauty  so  awfully  change,  in  age,  to 
hideousness  the  most  appalling  and  revolting.  But  the 
old  woman  now  before  them  was  not  one  of  these  speci- 
mens of  the  extreme  of  human  ugliness ;  on  the  con- 
trary, her  countenance  betrayed  the  remains  of  a 
regular  but  high  and  aquiline  order  of  feature:  with 
stony  eyes  turned  upon  them — with  a  look  that  met 
and  fascinated  theirs — they  beheld  in  that  fearful  coun- 
tenance the  very  image  of  a  corpse! — the  same,  the 
glazed  and  lustreless  regard,  the  blue  and  shrunken 
lips,  the  drawn  and  hollow  jaw — the  dead,  lank  hair,  of 
a  pale  grey — the  livid,  green,  ghastly  skin,  which 
seemed  all  surely  tinged  and  tainted  by  the  grave ! 

"  It  is  a  dead  thing !  "  said  Glaucus. 

"  Nay — it  stirs — it  is  a  ghost  or  larva,"  faltered 
lone,  as  she  clung  to  the  Athenian's  breast. 

"  Oh,  away — away !  "  groaned  the  slave,  "  it  is  the 
Witch  of  Vesuvius  !  " 

"Who  are  ye?"  said  a  hollow  and  ghostly  voice. 
"  And  what  do  ye  here  ?  " 

The  sound,  terrible  and  deathlike  as  it  was — suiting 
well  the  countenance  of  the  speaker,  and  seeming  rather 
the  voice  of  some  bodiless  wanderer  of  the  Styx  than 
living  mortal,  would  have  made  lone  shrink  back  into 
the  pitiless  fury  of  the  storm,  but  Glaucus,  though  not 
without  some  misgiving,  drew  her  into  the  cavern. 

"  We  are  storm-beaten  wanderers  from  the  neigh- 
bouring city,"  said  he,  "  and  decoyed  hither  by  yon 
light;  we  crave  shelter  and  comfort  of  your  hearth." 


28o        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

As  he  spoke,  the  fox  rose  from  the  ground,  and  ad- 
vanced towards  the  strangers,  showing,  from  end  to 
end,  its  white  teeth,  and  deepening  in  its  menacing 
growl. 

"  Down,  slave !  "  said  the  witch ;  and  at  the  sound 
of  her  voice  the  beast  dropped  at  once,  covering  its 
face  with  its  brush,  and  keeping  only  its  quick,  vigilant 
eye  fixed  upon  the  invaders  of  its  repose.  "  Come  to 
the  fire  if  ye  will !  "  said  she,  turning  to  Glaucus  and  his 
companions.  "  I  never  welcome  living  thing — save 
the  owl,  the  fox,  the  toad,  and  the  viper — so  I  cannot 
welcome  ye ;  but  come  to  the  fire  without  welcome — 
why  stand  upon  form  ?  " 

The  language  in  which  the  hag  addressed  them  was 
a  strange  and  barbarous  Latin,  interlarded  with  many 
words  of  some  more  rude  and  ancient  dialect.  She  did 
not  stir  from  her  seat,  but  gazed  stonily  upon  them  as 
Glaucus  now  released  lone  of  her  outer  wrapping  gar- 
ments, and  making  her  place  herself  on  a  log  of  wood, 
which  was  the  only  other  seat  he  perceived  at  hand — 
fanned  with  his  breath  the  embers  into  a  more  glowing 
flame.  The  slave,  encouraged  by  the  boldness  of  her 
superiors,  divested  herself  also  of  her  long  palla,  and 
crept  timorously  to  the  opposite  corner  of  the  hearth. 

"  We  disturb  you,  I  fear,"  said  the  silver  voice  of 
lone,  in  conciliation. 

The  witch  did  not  reply — she  seemed  like  one  who 
has  awakened  for  a  moment  from  the-  dead,  and  has 
then  relapsed  once  more  into  the  eternal  slumber. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  she,  suddenly,  and  after  a  long 
pause,  "  are  ye  brother  and  sister?  " 

"  No,"  said  lone,  blushing. 

"  Are  ye  married  ?  " 

"  Not  so,"  replied  Glaucus. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        281 

"  Ho,  lovers  !  —  ha !  —  ha !  —  ha !  "  and  the  witch 
laughed  so  loud  and  so  long  that  the  caserns  rang 
again. 

The  heart  of  lone  stood  still  at  that  strange  mirth. 
Glaucus  muttered  a  rapid  counterspell  to  the  omen — 
and  the  slave  turned  as  pale  as  the  cheek  of  the  witch 
herself. 

"Why  dost  thou  laugh,  old  crone?"  said  Glaucus, 
somewhat  sternly,  as  he  concluded  his  invocation. 

"  Did  I  laugh  ?  "  said  the  hag,  absently. 

"  She  is  in  her  dotage,"  whispered  Glaucus :  as  he 
said  this,  he  caught  the  eye  of  the  hag  fixed  upon  him 
with  a  malignant  and  vivid  glare. 

"  Thou  liest !  "  said  she,  abruptly. 

"  Thou  art  an  uncourteous  welcomer,"  returned 
Glaucus. 

"  Hush !  provoke  her  not,  dear  Glaucus !  "  whispered 
lone. 

"  I  will  tell  thee  why  I  laughed  when  I  discovered 
ye  were  lovers,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  It  was  because 
it  is  a  pleasure  to  the  old  and  withered  to  look  upon 
young  hearts  like  yours — and  to  know  the  time  will 
come  when  you  will  loathe  each  other — loathe — loathe 
—ha !— ha !— ha !  " 

It  was  now  lone's  turn  to  pray  against  the  unpleas- 
ing  prophecy. 

"  The  gods  forbid !  "  said  she.  "  Yet,  poor  woman, 
thou  knowest  little  of  love,  or  thou  wouldst  know  that 
it  never  changes." 

"Was  I  young  once,  think  ye?"  returned  the  hag, 
quicklv :  "  and  am  I  old,  and  hideous,  and  deathly  now  ? 
Such  as  is  the  form,  so  is  the  heart."  With  these  words 
she  sank  again  into  a  stillness  profound  and  fearful, 
as  if  the  cessation  of  life  itself. 


282        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Hast  thou  dwelt  here  long?  "  said  Glaucus,  after  a 
pause,  feeling  uncomfortably  oppressed  beneath  a  si- 
lence so  appalling. 

"  Ah,  long! — yes." 

"  It  is  but  a  drear  abode." 

"  Ha !  thou  mayst  well  say  that — Hell  is  beneath 
us !  "  replied  the  hag,  pointing  her  bony  finger  to  the 
earth.  "  And  I  will  tell  thee  a  secret — the  dim  things 
below  are  preparing  wrath  for  ye  above — you,  the 
young,  and  the  thoughtless,  and  the  beautiful." 

"  Thou  utterest  but  evil  words,  ill  becoming  the  hos- 
pitable," said  Glaucus ;  "  and  in  future  I  will  brave  the 
tempest  rather  than  thy  welcome." 

"  Thou  wilt  do  well.  None  should  ever  seek  me — 
save  the  wretched  !  " 

"  And  why  the  wretched  ?  "  asked  the  Athenian. 

"  I  am  the  witch  of  the  mountain,"  replied  the  sor- 
ceress, with  a  ghastly  grin ;  "  my  trade  is  to  give  hope 
to  the  hopeless :  for  the  crossed  in  love  I  have  philtres ; 
for  the  avaricious,  promises  of  treasure;  for  the  ma- 
licious, potions  of  revenge ;  for  the  happy  and  the  good, 
I  have  only  what  life  has — curses !  Trouble  me  no 
more." 

With  this  the  grim  tenant  of  the  cave  relapsed  into 
a  silence  so  obstinate  and  sullen,  that  Glaucus  in  vain 
endeavoured  to  draw  her  into  farther  conversation. 
She  did  not  evince,  by  any  alteration  of  her  locked  and 
rigid  features,  that  she  even  heard  him.  Fortunately, 
however,  the  storm,  which  was  brief  as  violent,  began 
now  to  relax,  the  rain  grew  less  and  less  fierce ;  and  at 
last,  as  the  clouds  parted,  the  moon  burst  forth  in  the 
purple  opening  of  heaven,  and  streamed  clear  and  full 
into  that  desolate  abode.  Never  had  she  shone,  per- 
haps, on  a  group  more  worthy  of  the  painter's  art.  The 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        283 

young,  the  all-beautiful  lone,  seated  by  that  rude  fire 
— her  lover  already  forgetful  of  the  presence  of  the 
hag,  at  her  feet,  gazing  upward  to  her  face,  and  whis- 
pering sweet  words — the  pale  and  affrighted  slave  at 
a  little  distance — and  the  ghastly  hag  resting  her  deadly 
eyes  upon  them ;  yet  seemingly  serene  and  fearless  (  for 
the  companionship  of  love  hath  such  power)  were 
these  beautiful  beings,  things  of  another  sphere,  in  that 
dark  and  unholy  cavern,  with  its  gloomy  quaintness  of 
appurtenance.  The  fox  regarded  them  from  his  cor- 
ner with  his  keen  and  fiery  eye :  and  as  Glaucus  now 
turned  towards  the  witch,  he  perceived  for  the  first 
time,  just  under  her  seat,  the  bright  gaze  and  crested 
head  of  a  large  snake :  whether  it  was  that  the  vivid 
colouring  of  the  Athenian's  cloak,  thrown  over  the 
shoulders  of  lone,  attracted  the  reptile's  anger — its 
crest  began  to  glow  and  rise,  as  if  menacing  and  pre- 
paring itself  to  spring  upon  the  Neapolitan;  Glaucus 
caught  quickly  at  one  of  the  half-burned  logs  upon  the 
hearth — and,  as  if  enraged  at  the  action,  the  snake  came 
forth  from  its  shelter,  and  with  a  loud  hiss  raised  itself 
on  end  till  its  height  nearly  approached  that  of  the 
Greek. 

"  Witch  !  "  cried  Glaucus,  "  command  thy  creature, 
or  thou  wilt  see  it  dead." 

"  It  has  been  despoiled  of  its  venom !  "  said  the 
witch,  aroused  at  his  threat ;  but  ere  the  words  had  left 
her  lip,  the  snake  had  sprung  upon  Glaucus ;  quick 
and  watchful,  the  agile  Greek  leaped  lightlv  aside,  and 
struck  so  fell  and  dexterous  a  blow  on  the  head  of  the 
snake,  that  it  fell  prostrate  and  writhing  among  the 
embers  of  the  fire. 

The  hag  sprung  up,  and  stood  confronting  Glaucus 
with  a  face  which  would  have  befitted  the  fiercest  of 


284        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

the  Furies,  so  utterly  dire  and  wrathful  was  its  expres- 
sion— yet  even  in  horror  and  ghastliness  preserving 
the  outline  and  trace  of  beauty — and  utterly  free  from 
that  coarse  grotesque  at  which  the  imaginations  of  the 
North  have  sought  the  source  of  terror. 

''  Thou  hast,"  said  she,  in  a  slow  and  steady  voice — 
which  belied  the  expression  of  her  face,  so  much  was 
it  passionless  and  calm — "  thou  hast  had  shelter  under 
my  roof,  and  warmth  at  my  hearth ;  thou  hast  returned 
evil  for  good ;  thou  hast  smitten  and  haply  slain  the 
thing  that  loved  me  and  was  mine :  nay  more,  the  creat- 
ure, above  all  others,  consecrated  to  gods  and  deemed 
venerable  by  man  x — now  hear  thy  punishment.  By 
the  moon,  who  is  the  guardian  of  the  sorceress — by 
Orcus,  who  is  the  treasurer  of  wrath — I  curse  thee ! 
and  thou  art  cursed!  May  thy  love  be  blasted — may 
thy  name  be  blackened — may  the  infernals  mark  thee 
— may  thy  heart  wither  and  scorch — may  thy  last  hour 
recall  to  thee  the  prophet  voice  of  the  Saga  of  Vesu- 
vius !  And  thou,"  she  added,  turning  sharply  towards 
lone,  and  raising  her  right  arm,  when  Glaucus  burst 
impetuously  on  her  speech : — 

"  Hag !  "  cried  he,  "  forbear !  Me  thou  hast  cursed, 
and  I  commit  myself  to  the  gods — I  defy  and  scorn 
thee !  but  breathe  but  one  word  against  yon  maiden, 
and  I  will  convert  the  oath  on  thy  foul  lips  to  thy  dying 
groan.  Beware !  " 

"  I  have  done,"  replied  the  hag,  laughing  wildly ; 
"  for  in  thy  doom  is  she  who  loves  thee  accursed.  And 
not  the  less,  that  I  heard  her  lips  breathe  thy  name,  and 
know  by  what  word  to  commend  thee  to  the  demons. 

1  A  peculiar  sanctity  was  attached  by  the  Romans  (as,  in- 
deed, by  perhaps  every  ancient  people)  to  serpents,  which  they 
kept  tame  in  their  houses,  and  often  introduced  at  their  meals. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        285 

Glaucus — thou  art  doomed !  "  So  saying,  the  witch 
turned  from  the  Athenian,  and  kneeling  down  beside 
her  wounded  favourite,  which  she  dragged  from  the 
hearth,  she  turned  to  them  her  face  no  more. 

"  O  Glaucus !  "  said  lone,  greatly  terrified,  "  what 
have  we  done?  Let  us  hasten  from  this  place;  the 
storm  has  ceased.  Good  mistress,  forgive  him — recall 
thy  words — he  meant  but  to  defend  himself — accept 
this  peace-offering  to  unsay  the  said : "  and  lone, 
stooping,  placed  her  purse  on  the  hag's  lap. 

"  Away  !  "  said  she,  bitterly — "  away  !  The  oath 
once  woven  the  Fates  only  can  untie.  Away !  " 

"  Come,  dearest ! "  said  Glaucus,  impatiently. 
"  Thinkest  thou  that  the  gods  above  us  or  below  hear 
the  impotent  ravings  of  dotage  ?  Come !  " 

Long  and  loud  rang  the  echoes  of  the  cavern  with 
the  dread  laugh  of  the  Saga — she  deigned  no  further 
reply. 

The  lovers  breathed  more  freely  when  they  gained 
the  open  air:  yet  the  scene  they  had  witnessed,  the 
words  and  the  laughter  of  the  witch,  still  fearfully 
dwelt  with  lone ;  and  even  Glaucus  could  not  thor- 
oughly shake  off  the  impression  they  bequeathed.  The 
storm  had  subsided — save,  now  and  then,  a  low  thun- 
der muttered  at  the  distance  amidst  the  darker  clouds, 
or  a  momentary  flash  of  lightning  affronted  the  sov- 
ereignty of  the  moon.  With  some  difficulty  they  re- 
gained the  road,  where  they  found  the  vehicle  already 
sufficiently  repaired  for  their  departure,  and  the  carru- 
carius  calling  loudly  upon  Hercules  to  tell  him  where 
his  charge  had  vanished. 

Glaucus  vainly  endeavoured  to  cheer  the  exhausted 
spirits  of  lone;  and  scarce  less  vainly  to  recover  the 
elastic  tone  of  his  own  natural  gaiety.  They  soon  ar- 


286        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

rived  before  the  gate  of  the  city :  as  it  opened  to  them, 
a  litter  borne  by  slaves  impeded  the  way. 

"  It  is  too  late  for  egress,"  cried  the  sentinel  to  the 
inmate  of  the  litter. 

"  Not  so,"  said  a  voice,  which  the  lovers  started  to 
hear ;  it  was  a  voice  they  well  recognised.  "  I  am  bound 
to  the  villa  of  Marcus  Polybius.  I  shall  return  shortly. 
I  am  Arbaces  the  Egyptian." 

The  scruples  of  him  of  the  gate  were  removed,  and 
the  litter  passed  close  beside  the  carriage  that  bore  the 
lovers. 

"  Arbaces,  at  this  hour ! — scarce  recovered  too,  me- 
thinks !  Whither  and  for  what  can  he  leave  the  city  ?  " 
said  Glaucus. 

"  Alas !  "  replied  lone,  bursting  into  tears,  "  my  soul 
feels  still  more  and  more  the  omen  of  evil.  Preserve 
us,  O  ye  Gods !  or  at  least,"  she  murmured  inly,  "  pre- 
serve mv  Glaucus." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  LORD  OF  THE  BURNING  BELT  AND  HIS  MINION. — 
FATE  WRITES  HER  PROPHECY  IN  RED  LETTERS,  BUT 
WHO  SHALL  READ  THEM? 

Arbaces  had  tarried  only  till  the  cessation  of  the 
tempest  allowed  him,  under  cover  of  the  night,  to  seek 
the  Saga  of  Vesuvius. 

Borne  by  those  of  his  trustier  slaves  in  whom  in  all 
more  secret  expeditions  he  was  accustomed  to  confide, 
he  lay  extended  along  his  litter,  and  resigning  his  san- 
guine heart  to  the  contemplation  of  vengeance  grati- 
fied and  love  possessed.  The  slaves  in  so  short  a  jour- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        287 

ney  moved  very  little  slower  than  the  ordinary  pace 
of  mules ;  and  Arbaces  soon  arrived  at  the  commence- 
ment of  a  narrow  path,  which  the  lovers  had  not  been 
fortunate  enough  to  discover;  but  which,  skirting  the 
thick  vines,  led  at  once  to  the  habitation  of  the  witch. 
Here  he  rested  the  litter ;  and  bidding  his  slaves  con- 
ceal themselves  and  the  vehicle  among  the  vines  from 
the  observation  of  any  chance  passenger,  he  mounted 
alone,  with  steps  still  feeble  but  supported  by  a  long 
staff,  the  drear  and  sharp  ascent. 

Not  a  drop  of  rain  fell  from  the  tranquil  heaven ; 
but  the  moisture  dripped  mournfully  from  the  laden 
boughs  of  the  vine,  and  now  and  then  collected  in  tiny 
pools  in  the  crevices  and  hollows  of  the  rocky  way. 

"  Strange  passions  these  for  a  philosopher,"  thought 
Arbaces,  "  that  lead  one  like  me  just  new  from  the  bed 
of  death,  and  lapped  even  in  health  amidst  the  roses 
of  luxury,  across  such  nocturnal  paths  as  this ;  but  Pas- 
sion and  Vengeance  treading  to  their  goal  can  make  an 
Elysium  of  a  Tartarus."  High,  clear,  and  melancholy 
shone  the  moon  above  the  road  of  that  dark  wayfarer, 
glassing  herself  in  every  pool  that  lay  before  him,  and 
sleeping  in  shadow  along  the  sloping  mount.  He  saw 
before  him  the  same  light  that  had  guided  the  steps  of 
his  intended  victims,  but,  no  longer  contrasted  by  the 
blackened  clouds,  it  shone  less  redly  clear. 

He  paused,  as  at  length  he  approached  the  mouth  of 
the  cavern,  to  recover  breath ;  and  then,  with  his 
wonted  collected  and  stately  mien,  he  crossed  the  un- 
hallowed threshold. 

The  fox  sprang  up  at  the  ingress  of  this  new  comer, 
and  by  a  long  howl  announced  another  visitor  to  his 
mistress. 

The  witch  had  resumed  her  seat,  and  her  aspect  of 


288        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

grave-like  and  grim  repose.  By  her  feet,  upon  a  be<)' 
of  dry  weeds  which  half  covered  it,  lay  the  wounded' 
snake;  but  the  quick  eye  of  the  Egyptian  caught  its 
scales  glittering  in  the  reflected  light  of  the  opposite 
fire,  as  it  writhed, — now  contracting,  now  lengthening, 
its  folds,  in  pain  and  unsated  anger. 

"  Down,  slave !  "  said  the  witch,  as  before,  to  the  fox ; 
and,  as  before,  the  animal  dropped  to  the  ground — 
mute,  but  vigilant. 

"  Rise,  servant  of  Nox  and  Erebus !  "  said  Arbaces, 
commandingly ;  "  a  superior  in  thine  art  salutes  thee ! 
rise,  and  welcome  him." 

At  these  words  the  hag  turned  her  gaze  upon  the 
Egyptian's  towering  form  and  dark  features.  She 
looked  long  and  fixedly  upon  him,  as  he  stood  before 
her  in  his  Oriental  robe,  and  folded  arms,  and  stead- 
fast and  haughty  brow.  "  Who  art  thou,"  she  said  at 
last,  "  that  callest  thyself  greater  in  art  than  the  Saga 
of  the  Burning  Fields,  and  the  daughter  of  the  perished 
Etrurian  race  ?  " 

"  I  am  he,"  answered  Arbaces,  "  from  whom  all  cul- 
tivators of  magic,  from  north  to  south,  from  east  to 
west,  from  the  Ganges  and  the  Nile  to  the  vales  of 
Thessaly  and  the  shores  of  the  yellow  Tiber,  have 
stooped  to  learn." 

"  There  is  but  one  such  man  in  these  places,"  an- 
swered the  witch,  "  whom  the  men  of  the  outer  world, 
unknowing  his  loftier  attributes  and  more  secret  fame, 
call  Arbaces  the  Egyptian  :  to  us  of  a  higher  nature  and 
deeper  knowledge,  his  rightful  appellation  is  Hermes 
of  the  Burning  Girdle." 

"  Look  again,"  returned  Arbaces:  "  I  am  he." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  aside  his  robe,  and  revealed  a 
cincture  seemingly  of  fire,  that  burned  around  his 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        289 

waist,  clasped  in  the  centre  by  a  plate  whereon  was  en- 
graven some  sign  apparently  vague  and  unintelligible, 
but  which  was  evidently  not  unknown  to  the  Saga. 
She  rose  hastily,  and  threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  Ar- 
baces.  "  I  have  seen  then,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  of  deep 
humility,  "  the  Lord  of  the  Mighty  Girdle — vouchsafe 
my  homage." 

"  Rise,"  said  the  Egyptian ;  "  I  have  need  of  thee." 

So  saying,  he  placed  himself  on  the  same  log  of  wood 
on  which  lone  had  rested  before,  and  motioned  to  the 
witch  to  resume  her  seat. 

"Thou  sayest,"  said  he,  as  she  obeyed,  "that  thou 
art  a  daughter  of  the  ancient  Etrurian  x  tribes ;  the 
mighty  walls  of  whose  rock-built  cities  yet  frown 
above  the  robber  race  that  hath  seized  upon  their  an- 
cient reign.  Partly  came  those  tribes  from  Greece, 
partly  were  they  exiles  from  a  more  burning  and 
primeval  soil.  In  either  case  art  thou  of  Egyptian 
lineage,  for  the  Grecian  masters  of  the  aboriginal  helot 
were  among  the  restless  sons  whom  the  Nile  banished 
from  her  bosom.  Equally  then,  O  Saga !  thy  descent 
is  from  ancestors  that  swore  allegiance  to  mine  own. 
By  birth  as  by  knowledge,  art  thou  the  subject  of  Ar- 
baces.  Hear  me,  then,  and  obey !  " 

The  witch  bowed  her  head. 

"  Whatever  art  we  possess  in  sorcery,"  continued 
Arbaces,  "  we  are  sometimes  driven  to  natural  means  I 
to  attain  our  object.    The  ring z  and  the  crystal,3  and  ' 

1  The  Etrurians  (it  may  be  superfluous  to  mention)  were 
celebrated  for  their  enchantments.  Arbaces  is  wrong  in  as- 
suming their  Egyptian  origin,  but  the  Egyptians  arrogated  the 
ancestry  of  almost  every  one  of  the  more  illustrious  races,  and 
there  are  not  wanting  modern  schoolmen  who  too  credulously 
support  the  claim. 

s  Aa/cTiM.o/tocTeia.  *  KpvffTa\\Ofj.avTfia. 

19 


290        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

the  ashes  l  and  the  herbs,2  do  not  give  unerring  divina- 
tions ;  neither  do  the  higher  mysteries  of  the  moon  yield 
even  the  possessor  of  the  girdle  a  dispensation  from 
the  necessity  of  employing  ever  and  anon  human  meas- 
ures for  a  human  object.  Mark  me,  then:  thou  art 
deeply  skilled,  methinks,  in  the  secrets  of  the  more 
deadly  herbs;  thou  knowest  those  which  arrest  life, 
which  burn  and  scorch  the  soul  from  out  her  citadel,  or 
freeze  the  channels  of  young  blood  into  that  ice  which 
no  sun  can  melt.  Do  I  overrate  thy  skill  ?  Speak,  and 
truly !  " 

"  Mighty  Hermes,  such  lore  is,  indeed,  mine  own. 
Deign  to  look  at  these  ghostly  and  corpse-like  features : 
they  have  waned  from  the  hues  of  life  merely  by  watch- 
ing over  the  rank  herbs  which  simmer  night  and  day  in 
yon  cauldron." 

The  Egyptian  moved  his  seat  from  so  unblessed  or 
so  unhealthful  a  vicinity  as  the  witch  spoke. 

"  It  is  well,"  said  he ;  "  thou  hast  learned  that  maxim 
of  all  the  deeper  knowledge  which  saith,  '  Despise  the 
body  to  make  wise  the  mind.'  But  to  thy  task.  There 
cometh  to  thee  by  to-morrow's  starlight  a  vain  maiden, 
seeking  of  thine  art  a  love-charm  to  fascinate  from  an- 
other the  eyes  that  should  utter  but  soft  tales  to  her 
own;  instead  of  thy  philtres,  give  the  maiden  one  of 
thy  most  powerful  poisons.  Let  the  lover  breathe  his 
vows  to  the  Shades." 

The  witch  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Oh  pardon !  pardon !  dread  master,"  said  she,  fal- 
teringly,  "  but  this  I  dare  not.  The  law  in  these  cities 
is  sharp  and  vigilant;  they  will  seize,  they  will  slay 
me." 

"  For  what  purpose,  then,  thy  herbs  and  thy  potions, 
vain  Saga  ?  "  said  Arbaces,  sneeringly. 

'  BcTarouairefa. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        291 

The  witch  hid  her  loathsome  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Oh !  years  ago,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  unlike  her 
usual  tones,  so  plaintive  was  it,  and  so  soft,  "  I  was 
not  the  thing  that  I  am  now.  I  loved,  I  fancied  my- 
self beloved." 

"  And  what  connection  hath  thy  love,  witch,  with 
my  commands  ?  "  said  Arbaces,  impetuously. 

"  Patience,"  resumed  the  witch ;  "  patience,  I  im- 
plore. I  loved !  Another  and  less  fair  than  I — yes, 
by  Nemesis!  less  fair — allured  from  me  my  chosen. 
I  was  of  that  dark  Etrurian  tribe  to  whom  most  of  all 
were  known  the  secrets  of  the  gloomier  magic.  My 
mother  was  herself  a  Saga :  she  shared  the  resentment 
of  her  child ;  from  her  hands  I  received  the  potion  that 
was  to  restore  me  his  love;  and  from  her,  also,  the 
poison  that  was  to  destroy  my  rival.  Oh,  crush  me, 
dread  walls !  my  trembling  hands  mistook  the  phials, 
my  lover  fell  indeed  at  my  feet:  but  dead!  dead! 
Since  then,  what  has  been  life  to  me?  I  became  sud- 
denly old  ;  I  devoted  myself  to  the  sorceries  of  my  race ; 
still  by  an  irresistible  impulse  I  curse  myself  with  an 
awful  penance ;  still  I  seek  the  most  noxious  herbs ; 
still  I  concoct  the  poisons;  still  I  imagine  that  I  am 
to  give  them  to  my  hated  rival ;  still  I  pour  them  into 
the  phial ;  still  I  fancy  that  they  shall  blast  her  beauty 
to  the  dust ;  still  I  wake  and  see  the  quivering  body, 
the  foaming  lips,  the  glazing  eyes  of  my  Aulus — mur- 
dered, and  by  me !  " 

The  skeleton  frame  of  the  witch  shook  beneath 
strong  convulsions. 

Arbaces  gazed  upon  her  with  a  curious  though  con- 
temptuous eye. 

"  And  this  foul  thing  has  yet  human  emotions !  " 
thought  he ;  "  she  still  cowers  over  the  ashes  of  the 


292        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

same  fire  that  consumes  Arbaces ! — Such  are  we  all ! 
Mystic  is  the  tie  of  those  mortal  passions  that  unite 
the  greatest  and  the  least." 

He  did  not  reply  till  she  had  somewhat  recovered 
herself,  and  now  sat  rocking  to  and  fro  in  her  seat, 
with  glassy  eyes  fixed  on  the  opposite  flame,  and  large 
tears  rolling  down  her  livid  cheeks. 

"  A  grievous  tale  is  thine,  in  truth,"  said  Arbaces. 
"  But  these  emotions  are  fit  only  for  youth — age  should 
harden  our  hearts  to  all  things  but  ourselves ;  as  every 
year  adds  a  scale  to  the  shell-fish,  so  should  each  year 
wall  and  incrust  the  heart.  Think  of  those  frenzies 
no  more !  And  now,  listen  to  me  again !  By  the  re- 
venge that  was  dear  to  thee  I  command  thee  to  obey 
me !  It  is  for  vengeance  that  I  seek  thee !  This  youth 
whom  I  would  sweep  from  my  path  has  crossed  me, 
despite  my  spells : — this  thing  of  purple  and  broidery, 
of  smiles  and  glances,  soulless  and  mindless,  with  no 
charm  but  that  of  beauty — accursed  be  it! — this  in- 
sect— this  Glaucus — I  tell  thee,  by  Orcus  and  by 
Nemesis,  he  must  die." 

,  And  working  himself  up  at  every  word,  the  Egyp- 
tian, forgetful  of  his  debility — of  this  strange  compan- 
ion— of  everything  but  his  own  vindictive  rage,  strode, 
with  large  and  rapid  steps,  the  gloomy  cavern. 

"Glaucus!  saidst  thou,  mighty  master?"  said  the 
witch,  abruptly;  and  her  dim  eye  glared  at  the  name 
with  all  that  fierce  resentment  at  the  memory  of  small 
affronts  so  common  amongst  the  solitary  and  the 
shunned. 

"  Ay,  so  he  is  called ;  but  what  matters  the  name  ? 
Let  it  not  be  heard  as  that  of  a  living  man  three  days 
from  this  date !  " 

"  Hear  me,"  said  the  witch,  breaking  from  a  short 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        293 

reverie  into  which  she  was  plunged  after  his  last  sen- 
tence of  the  Egyptian.  "  Hear  me !  I  am  thy  thing 
and  thy  slave!  spare  me!  If  I  give  to  the  maiden 
thou  speakest  of  that  which  would  destroy  the  life  of 
Glaucus,  I  shall  be  surely  detected — the  dead  ever  find 
avengers.  Nay,  dread  man !  if  thy  visit  to  me  be 
tracked,  if  thy  hatred  to  Glaucus  be  known,  thou  may- 
est  have  need  of  thy  archest  magic  to  protect  thyself !  " 

"  Ha !  "  said  Arbaces,  stopping  suddenly  short ;  and 
as  a  proof  of  that  blindness  with  which  passion  dark- 
ens the  eyes  even  of  the  most  acute,  this  was  the  first 
time  that  the  risk  he  himself  ran  by  this  method  of 
vengeance  had  occurred  to  a  mind  ordinarily  wary  and 
circumspect. 

"  But,"  continued  the  witch,  "  if  instead  of  that 
which  shall  arrest  the  heart,  I  give  that  which  shall 
sear  and  blast  the  brain — which  shall  make  him  who 
quaffs  it  unfit  for  the  uses  and  career  of  life — an  ab- 
ject, raving,  benighted  thing — smiting  sense  to  driv- 
elling, youth  to  dotage — will  not  thy  vengeance  be 
equally  sated — thy  object  equally  attained  ?  " 

"  Oh  witch !  no  longer  the  servant,  but  the  sister — 
the  equal  of  Arbaces — how  much  brighter  is  woman's 
wit,  even  in  vengeance,  than  ours!  how  much  more 
exquisite  than  death  is  such  a  doom !  " 

"  And,"  continued  the  hag,  gloating  over  her  fell 
scheme,  "  in  this  is  but  little  danger :  for  by  ten  thou- 
sand methods,  which  men  forbear  to  seek,  can  our  vic- 
tim become  mad.  He  may  have  been  among  vines  and 
seen  a  nymph  * — or  the  vine  itself  may  have  had  the 
same  effect — ha,  ha!  they  never  inquire  too  scrupu- 
lously into  these  matters  in  which  the  gods  may  be 

1  To  see  a  nymph  was  to  become  mad,  according  to  classic 
and  popular  superstition. 


294        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

agents.  And  let  the  worst  arrive — let  it  be  known  that 
it  is  a  love  charm — why,  madness  is  a  common  effect 
of  philtres,  and  even  the  fair  she  that  gave  it  finds  in- 
dulgence in  the  excuse.  Mighty  Hermes,  have  I  min- 
istered to  thee  cunningly  ?  " 

"  Thou  shalt  have  twenty  years'  longer  date  for 
this,"  returned  Arbaces.  "  I  will  write  anew  the  epoch 
of  thy  fate  on  the  face  of  the  pale  stars — thou  shalt 
not  serve  in  vain  the  Master  of  the  Flaming  Belt.  And 
here,  Saga,  carve  thee  out,  by  these  golden  tools,  a 
warmer  cell  in  this  dreary  cavern — one  service  to  me 
shall  countervail  a  thousand  divinations  by  sieve  and 
shears,  to  the  gaping  rustics."  So  saying,  he  cast 
upon  the  floor  a  heavy  purse,  which  clinked  not  un- 
musically to  the  ear  of  the  hag,  who  loved  the  con- 
sciousness of  possessing  the  means  to  purchase  com- 
forts she  disdained.  "  Farewell,"  said  Arbaces,  "  fail 
not — outwatch  the  stars  in  concocting  thy  beverage — 
thou  shalt  lord  it  over  thy  sisters  at  the  Walnut  Tree  * 
when  thou  tellest  them  that  thy  patron  and  thy  friend 
is  Hermes  the  Egyptian.  To-morrow  night  we  meet 
again." 

He  stayed  not  to  hear  the  valediction  or  the  thanks 
of  the  witch  :  with  a  quick  step  he  passed  into  the  moon- 
lit air,  and  hastened  down  the  mountain. 

The  witch,  who  followed  his  steps  to  the  threshold, 
stood  long  at  the  entrance  of  the  cavern,  gazing  fixedly 
on  his  receding  form;  and  as  the  sad  moonlight 
streamed  upon  her  shadowy  form  and  deathlike  face, 
emerging  from  the  dismal  rocks,  it  seemed  as  if  one, 
gifted,  indeed,  by  supernatural  magic  had  escaped  from 

1  The  celebrated  and  immemorial  rendezvous  of  the  witches 
at  Benevento.  The  winged  serpent  attached  to  it,  long  an 
object  of  idolatry  in  those  parts,  was  probably  consecrated  by 
Egyptian  superstitions. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        295 

the  dreary  Orcus;  and  the  foremost  of  its  ghostly 
throng  stood  at  its  black  portals — vainly  summoning 
his  return,  or  vainly  sighing  to  rejoin  him.  The  hag, 
then  slowly  re-entering  the  cave,  droningly  picked  up 
the  heavy  purse,  took  the  lamp  from  its  stand,  and, 
passing  to  the  remotest  depth  of  her  cell,  a  black  and 
abrupt  passage,  which  was  not  visible,  save  at  a  near 
approach,  closed  round  as  it  was  with  jutting  and 
sharp  crags,  yawned  before  her ;  she  went  several  yards 
along  this  gloomy  path,  which  sloped  gradually  down- 
wards, as  if  towards  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and,  lift- 
ing a  stone,  deposited  her  treasure  in  a  hole  beneath, 
which  as  the  lamp  pierced  its  secrets,  seemed  already 
to  contain  coins  of  various  value,  wrung  from  the 
credulity  or  gratitude  of  her  visitors. 

"  I  love  to  look  at  you,"  said  she,  apostrophising  the 
moneys ;  "  for  when  I  see  you  I  feel  that  I  am  indeed 
of  power.  And  I  am  to  have  twenty  years'  longer  life 
to  increase  your  store !  O  thou  great  Hermes  !  " 

She  replaced  the  stone,  and  continued  her  path  on- 
ward for  some  paces,  when  she  stopped  before  a  deep 
irregular  fissure  in  the  earth.  Here,  as  she  bent — 
strange,  rumbling,  hoarse,  and  distant  sounds  might  be 
heard,  while  ever  and  anon,  with  a  loud  and  grating 
noise  which,  to  use  a  homely  but  faithful  simile, 
seemed  to  resemble  the  grinding  of  steel  upon  wheels, 
volumes  of  streaming  and  dark  smoke  issued  forth, 
and  rushed  spirally  along  the  cavern. 

"  The  Shades  are  noisier  than  their  wont,"  said  the 
hag,  shaking  her  grey  locks;  and,  looking  into  the 
cavity,  she  beheld,  far  down,  glimpses  of  a  long  streak 
of  light,  intensely  but  darkly  red.  "  Strange !  "  she 
said,  shrinking  back ;  "  it  is  only  within  the  last  two 
days  that  dull  deep  light  hath  been  visible — what  can 
it  portend  ?  " 


296        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  fox,  who  had  attended  the  steps  of  his  fell  mis- 
tress, uttered  a  dismal  howl,  and  ran  cowering  back 
to  the  inner  cave;  a  cold  shuddering  seized  the  hag 
herself  at  the  cry  of  the  animal,  which,  causeless  as  it 
seemed,  the  superstitions  of  the  time  considered  deeply 
ominous.  She  muttered  her  placatory  charm,  and  tot- 
tered back  into  her  cavern,  where,  amidst  her  herbs 
and  incantations,  she  prepared  to  execute  the  orders 
of  the  Egyptian. 

"  He  called  me  dotard,"  said  she,  as  the  smoke  curled 
from  the  hissing  cauldron :  "  when  the  jaws  drop,  and 
the  grinders  fall,  and  the  heart  scarce  beats,  it  is  a 
pitiable  thing  to  dote;  but  when,"  she  added,  with  a 
savage  and  exulting  grin,  "  the  young,  and  the  beauti- 
ful, and  the  strong,  are  suddenly  smitten  into  idiocy 
— ah,  that  is  terrible!  Burn  flame — simmer  herb — 
swelter  toad — I  cursed  him,  and  he  shall  be  cursed !  " 

On  that  night,  and  at  the  same  hour  which  witnessed 
the  dark  and  unholy  interview  between  Arbaces  and  the 
Saga,  Apsecides  was  baptised. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PROGRESS     OF     EVENTS. — THE     PLOT      THICKENS. THE 

WEB  IS   WOVEN,  BUT  THE   NET  CHANGES   HANDS. 

"  And  you  have  the  courage,  then,  Julia,  to  seek  the 
Witch  of  Vesuvius  this  evening ;  in  company,  too,  with 
that  fearful  man  ?  " 

"  Why,  Nydia  ?  "  replied  Julia,  timidly ;  "  dost  thou 
really  think  there  is  anything  to  dread?  These  old 
hags,  with  their  enchanted  mirrors,  their  trembling 
sieves,  and  their  moon-gathered  herbs,  are,  I  imagine, 
but  crafty  impostors,  who  have  learned,  perhaps,  noth- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        297 

ing  but  the  very  charm  for  which  I  apply  to  their 
skill,  and  which  is  drawn  but  from  the  knowledge  of 
the  field's  herbs  and  simples.  Wherefore  should  I 
dread?" 

"  Dost  thou  not  fear  thy  companion  ?  " 

"  What,  Arbaces  ?  By  Dian,  I  never  saw  lover  more 
courteous  than  that  same  magician !  And  were  he  not 
so  dark,  he  would  be  even  handsome." 

Blind  as  she  was,  Nydia  had  the  penetration  to  per- 
ceive that  Julia's  mind  was  not  one  that  the  gallantries 
of  Arbaces  were  likely  to  terrify.  She  therefore  dis- 
suaded her  no  more ;  but  nursed  in  her  excited  heart 
the  wild  and  increasing  desire  to  know  if  sorcery  had 
indeed  a  spell  to  fascinate  love  to  love. 

"  Let  me  go  with  thee,  noble  Julia,"  said  she  at 
length ;  "  my  presence  is  no  protection,  but  I  should 
like  to  be  beside  thee  to  the  last." 

"  Thine  offer  pleases  me  much,"  replied  the  daugh- 
ter of  Diomed.  "  Yet  how  canst  thou  contrive  it  ?  we 
may  not  return  until  late,  they  will  miss  thee." 

"  lone  is  indulgent,"  replied  Nydia.  "  If  thou  wilt 
permit  me  to  sleep  beneath  thy  roof,  I  will  say  that 
thou,  an  early  patroness  and  friend,  hast  invited  me 
to  pass  the  day  with  thee,  and  sing  thee  my  Thessalian 
songs ;  her  courtesy  will  readily  grant  to  thee  so  light 
a  boon." 

"  Nay,  ask  for  thyself ! "  said  the  haughty  Julia. 
"  I  stoop  to  request  no  favour  from  the  Neapolitan !  " 

"  Well,  be  it  so.  I  will  take  my  leave  now ;  make 
my  request,  which  I  know  will  be  readily  granted,  and 
return  shortly." 

"  Do  so ;  and  thy  bed  shall  be  prepared  in  my  own 
chamber." 

With  that,  Nydia  left  the  fair  Pompeian. 


298        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

On  her  way  back  to  lone  she  was  met  by  the  chariot 
of  Glaucus,  on  whose  fiery  and  curveting  steeds  was 
riveted  the  gaze  of  the  crowded  street. 

He  kindly  stopped  for  a  moment  to  speak  to  the 
flower-girl. 

"  Blooming  as  thine  own  roses,  my  gentle  Nydia ! 
and  how  is  thy  fair  mistress  ? — recovered,  I  trust,  from 
the  effects  of  the  storm  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  this  morning,"  answered 
Nydia,  "  but " 

"  But  what  ?  draw  back — the  horses  are  too  near 
thee." 

"  But  think  you  lone  will  permit  me  to  pass  the  day 
with  Julia,  the  daughter  of  Diomed?  She  wishes  it, 
and  was  kind  to  me  when  I  had  few  friends." 

"  The  gods  bless  thy  grateful  heart !  I  will  answer 
for  lone's  permission." 

"  Then  I  may  stay  over  the  night,  and  return  to- 
morrow ?  "  said  Nydia,  shrinking  from  the  praise  she 
so  little  merited. 

"  As  thou  and  fair  Julia  please.  Commend  me  to 
her ;  and  hark  ye,  Nydia,  when  thou  hearest  her  speak, 
note  the  contrast  of  her  voice  with  that  of  the  silver- 
toned  lone. — Vale!" 

His  spirits  entirely  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the 
past  night,  his  locks  waving  in  the  wind,  his  joyous 
and  elastic  heart  bounding  with  every  spring  of  his 
Parthian  steeds,  a  very  prototype  of  his  country's  god, 
full  of  youth  and  of  love — Glaucus  was  borne  rapidly 
to  his  mistress. 

Enjoy  while  ye  may  the  present — who  can  read  the 
future  ? 

As  the  evening  darkened,  Julia,  reclined  within  her 
litter  which  was  capacious  enough  also  to  admit  her 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        299 

blind  companion,  took  her  way  to  the  rural  baths  in- 
dicated by  Arbaces.  To  her  natural  levity  of  disposi- 
tion, her  enterprise  brought  less  terror  than  of  pleas- 
urable excitement ;  above  all,  she  glowed  at  the  thought 
of  her  coming  triumph  over  the  hated  Neapolitan. 

A  small  but  gay  group  was  collected  round  the  door 
of  the  villa,  as  her  litter  passed  by  it  to  the  private 
entrance  of  the  baths  appropriated  to  the  women. 

"  Methinks,  by  this  dim  light,"  said  one  of  the  by- 
standers, "  I  recognise  the  slaves  of  Diomed." 

"  True,  Clodius,"  said  Sallust :  "  it  is  probably  the 
litter  of  his  daughter  Julia.  She  is  rich,  my  friend; 
why  dost  thou  not  proffer  thy  suit  to  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  had  once  hoped  that  Glaucus  would  have 
married  her.  She  does  not  disguise  her  attachment; 
and  then,  as  he  gambles  freely  and  with  ill-suc- 
cess  " 

"  The  sesterces  would  have  passed  to  thee,  wise 
Clodius.  A  wife  is  a  good  thing — when  it  belongs  to 
another  man !  " 

"  But,"  continued  Clodius,  "  as  Glaucus  is,  I  under- 
stand, to  wed  the  Neapolitan,  I  think  I  must  even  try 
my  chance  with  the  rejected  maid.  After  all,  the  lamp 
of  Hymen  will  be  gilt,  and  the  vessel  will  reconcile 
one  to  the  odour  of  the  flame.  I  shall  only  protest, 
my  Sallust,  against  Diomed's  making  thee  trustee  of 
his  daughter's  fortune."  * 

"  Ha !  ha !  let  us  within,  my  comissator;  the  wine 
and  the  garlands  wait  us." 

Dismissing  her  slaves  to  that  part  of  the  house  set 

1  It  was  an  ancient  Roman  law,  that  no  one  should  make  a 
woman  his  heir.  This  law  was  evaded  by  the  parent's  assign- 
ing his  fortune  to  a  friend  in  trust  for  his  daughter,  but  the 
trustee  might  keep  it  if  he  liked.  The  law  had,  however,  fallen 
into  disuse  before  the  date  of  this  story. 


300        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

apart  for  their  entertainment,  Julia  entered  the  baths 
with  Nydia,  and  declining  the  offers  of  the  attendants, 
passed  by  a  private  door  into  the  garden  behind. 

"  She  comes  by  appointment,  be  sure,"  said  one  of 
the  slaves. 

"  What  is  that  to  thee  ? "  said  a  superintendent, 
sourly ;  "  she  pays  for  the  baths,  and  does  not  waste 
the  saffron.  Such  appointments  are  the  best  of  the 
trade.  Hark !  do  you  not  hear  the  widow  Fulvia  clap- 
ping her  hands  ?  Run,  fool ! — run !  " 

Julia  and  Nydia,  avoiding  the  more  public  part  of 
the  garden,  arrived  at  the  place  specified  by  the  Egyp- 
tian. In  a  small  circular  plot  of  grass  the  stars 
gleamed  upon  the  statue  of  Silenus: — the  merry  god 
reclined  upon  a  fragment  of  rock — the  lynx  of  Bac- 
chus at  his  feet — and  over  his  mouth  he  held,  with  ex- 
tended arm,  a  bunch  of  grapes,  which  he  seemingly 
laughed  to  welcome  ere  he  devoured. 

"  I  see  not  the  magician,"  said  Julia,  looking  round  ; 
when,  as  she  spoke,  the  Egyptian  slowly  emerged  from 
the  neighbouring  foliage,  and  the  light  fell  palely  over 
his  sweeping  robes. 

"Salve,  sweet  maiden! — But  ha!  whom  hast  thou 
there  ?  we  must  have  no  companions !  " 

"  It  is  but  the  blind  flower-girl,  wise  magician,"  re- 
plied Julia ;  "  herself  a  Thessalian." 

"  Oh !  Nydia !  "  said  the  Egyptian ;  "  I  know  her 
well." 

Nydia  drew  back  and  shuddered. 

"  Thou  hast  been  at  my  house,  methinks !  "  said  he 
approaching  his  voice  to  Nydia's  ear ;  "  thou  knowest 
the  oath! — Silence  and  secrecy,  now  as  then,  or  be- 
ware !  Yet,"  he  added,  musingly  to  himself,  "  why 
confide  more  than  is  necessary,  even  in  the  blind — 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        301 

Julia,  canst  them  trust  thyself  alone  with  me  ?  Believe 
me  the  magician  is  less  formidable  than  he  seems." 

As  he  spoke  he  gently  drew  Julia  aside. 

"  The  witch  loves  not  many  visitors  at  once,"  said 
he ;  "  leave  Nydia  here  till  your  return ;  she  can  be  of 
no  assistance  to  us:  and  for  protection — your  own 
beauty  suffices — your  own  beauty  and  your  own  rank ; 
yes,  Julia,  I  know  thy  name  and  birth.  Come,  trust 
thyself  with  me,  fair  rival  of  the  youngest  of  the 
Naiads!" 

The  vain  Julia  was  not,  as  we  have  seen,  easily  af- 
frighted; she  was  moved  by  the  flattery  of  Arbaces, 
and  she  readily  consented  to  suffer  Nydia  to  await  her 
return;  nor  did  Nydia  press  her  presence.  At  the 
sound  of  the  Egyptian's  voice  all  her  terror  of  him  re- 
turned ;  she  felt  a  sentiment  of  pleasure  at  learning  she 
was  not  to  travel  in  his  companionship. 

She  returned  to  the  Bath-house,  and  in  one  of  the 
private  chambers  waited  their  return.  Many  and  bit- 
ter were  the  thoughts  of  this  wild  girl  as  she  sat  there 
in  her  eternal  darkness.  She  thought  of  her  own  deso- 
late fate,  far  from  her  native  land,  far  from  the  bland 
cares  that  once  assuaged  the  April  sorrows  of  child- 
hood ; — deprived  of  the  light  of  day,  with  none  but 
strangers  to  guide  her  steps,  accursed  by  the  one  soft 
feeling  of  her  heart,  loving  and  without  hope,  save  the 
dim  and  unholy  ray  which  shot  across  her  mind,  as  her 
Thessalian  fancies  questioned  of  the  force  of  spells  and 
the  gifts  of  magic ! 

Nature  had  sown  in  the  heart  of  this  poor  girl  the 
seeds  of  virtue  never  destined  to  ripen.  The  lessons 
of  adversity  are  not  always  salutary — sometimes  they 
soften  and  amend,  but  as  often  they  indurate  and  per- 
vert. If  we  consider  ourselves  more  harshly  treated 


302        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

by  fate  than  those  around  us,  and  do  not  acknowledge 
in  our  own  deeds  the  justice  of  the  severity,  we  become 
too  apt  to  deem  the  world  our  enemy,  to  case  ourselves 
in  defiance,  to  wrestle  against  our  softer  self,  and  to 
indulge  the  darker  passions  which  are  so  easily  fer- 
mented by  the  sense  of  injustice.  Sold  early  into  slav- 
ery, sentenced  to  a  sordid  task-master,  exchanging  her 
situation  only  yet  more  to  embitter  her  lot — the  kind- 
lier feelings,  naturally  profuse  in  the  breast  of  Nydia, 
were  nipped  and  blighted.  Her  sense  of  right  and 
wrong  was  confused  by  a  passion  to  which  she  had  so 
madly  surrendered  herself;  and  the  same  intense  and 
tragic  emotions  which  we  read  of  in  the  women  of  the 
classic  age — a  Myrrha,  a  Medea — and  which  hurried 
and  swept  the  whole  soul  when  once  delivered  to  love 
— ruled,  and  rioted  in,  her  breast. 

Time  passed  ;  a  light  step  entered  the  chamber  where 
Nydia  yet  indulged  her  gloomy  meditations. 

"  Oh,  thanked  be  the  immortal  gods !  "  said  Julia, 
"  I  have  returned,  I  have  left  that  terrible  cavern ! 
Come,  Nydia !  let  us  away  forthwith !  " 

It  was  not  till  they  were  seated  in  the  litter  that  Julia 
again  spoke. 

"  Oh !  "  said  she,  trembling,  "  such  a  scene !  such 
fearful  incantations !  and  the  dead  face  of  the  hag ! — 
But,  let  us  talk  not  of  it.  I  have  obtained  the  potion 
— she  pledges  its  effect.  My  rival  shall  be  suddenly 
indifferent  to  his  eye,  and  I,  I  alone,  the  idol  of 
Glaucus." 

"  Glaucus !  "  exclaimed  Nydia. 

"  Ay !  I  told  thee,  girl,  at  first,  that  it  was  not  the 
Athenian  whom  I  loved :  but  I  see  now  that  I  may  trust 
thee  wholly — it  is  the  beautiful  Greek !  " 

What  then  were  Nydia's  emotions!     She  had  con- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        303 

nived,  she  had  assisted,  in  tearing  Glaucus  from  lone ; 
but  only  to  transfer,  by  all  the  power  of  magic,  his 
affections  yet  more  hopelessly  to  another.  Her  heart 
swelled  almost  to  suffocation — she  gasped  for  breath 
— in  the  darkness  of  the  vehicle,  Julia  did  not  perceive 
the  agitation  of  her  companion ;  she  went  on  rapidly 
dilating  on  the  promised  effect  of  her  acquisition,  and 
on  her  approaching  triumph  over  lone,  every  now  and 
then  abruptly  digressing  to  the  horror  of  the  scene  she 
had  quitted — the  unmoved  mien  of  Arbaces,  and  his 
authority  over  the  dreadful  Saga. 

Meanwhile  Nydia  recovered  her  self-possession ;  a 
thought  flashed  across  her;  she  slept  in  the  chamber 
of  Julia — she  might  possess  herself  of  the  potion. 

They  arrived  at  the  house  of  Diomed,  and  descended 
to  Julia's  apartment,  where  the  night's  repast  awaited 
them. 

"  Drink,  Nydia,  thou  must  be  cold ;  the  air  was  chill 
to-night ;  as  for  me,  my  veins  are  yet  ice." 

And  Julia  unhesitatingly  quaffed  deep  draughts  of 
the  spiced  wine. 

"  Thou  hast  the  potion,"  said  Nydia ;  "  let  me  hold 
it  in  my  hands.  How  small  the  phial  is !  of  what  col- 
our is  the  draught  ?  " 

"  Clear  as  crystal,"  replied  Julia,  as  she  retook  the 
philtre ;  "  thou  couldst  not  tell  it  from  this  water.  The 
witch  assures  me  it  is  tasteless.  Small  though  the 
phial,  it  suffices  for  a  life's  fidelity :  it  is  to  be  poured 
into  any  liquid ;  and  Glaucus  will  only  know  what  he 
has  quaffed  by  the  effect." 

"  Exactly  like  this  water  in  appearance  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sparkling  and  colourless  as  this.  How  bright' 
it  seems!  it  is  as  the  very  essence  of  moonlit  dews, 
Bright  thing !  how  thou  shinest  on  my  hopes  through 
thy  crystal  vase !  " 


304     .    THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  And  how  is  it  sealed?  " 

"  But  by  one  little  stopper — I  withdraw  it  now — the 
draught  gives  no  odour.  Strange,  that  that  which 
speaks  to  neither  sense  should  thus  command  all !  " 

"  Is  the  effect  instantaneous  ?  " 

"  Usually ; — but  sometimes  it  remains  dormant  for 
a  few  hours." 

"  Oh,  how  sweet  is  this  perfume !  "  said  Nydia,  sud- 
denly, as  she  took  up  a  small  bottle  on  the  table,  and 
bent  over  its  fragrant  contents. 

"  Thinkest  thou  so  ?  the  bottle  is  set  with  gems  of 
some  value.  Thou  wouldst  not  have  the  bracelet  yes- 
ter  morn ; — wilt  thou  take  the  bottle  ?  " 

"  It  ought  to  be  such  perfumes  as  these  that  should 
remind  one  who  cannot  see  of  the  generous  Julia.  If 
the  bottle  be  not  too  costly " 

"  Oh,  I  have  a  thousand  costlier  ones :  take  it, 
child!" 

Nydia  bowed  her  gratitude,  and  placed  the  bottle  in 
her  vest. 

"  And  the  draught  would  be  equally  efficacious,  who- 
ever administers  it?  " 

"  If  the  most  hideous  hag  beneath  the  sun  bestowed 
it,  such  is  its  asserted  virtue  that  Glaucus  would  deem 
her  beautiful,  and  none  but  her!  " 

Julia,  warmed  by  wine,  and  the  reaction  of  her  spir- 
its, was  now  all  animation  and  delight;  she  laughed 
loud  and  talked  on  a  hundred  matters — nor  was  it  till 
the  night  had  advanced  far  towards  morning  that  she 
summoned  her  slaves  and  undressed. 

When  they  were  dismissed,  she  said  to  Nydia, — 

"  I  will  not  suffer  this  holy  draught  to  quit  my  pres- 
ence till  the  hour  comes  for  its  uses.  Lie  under  my 
pillow,  bright  spirit,  and  give  me  happy  dreams ! " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        305 

So  saying,  she  placed  the  potion  under  her  pillow. 
Nydia's  heart  beat  violently. 

"  Why  dost  thou  drink  that  unmixed  water,  Nydia  ? 
Take  the  wine  by  its  side." 

"  I  am  fevered,"  replied  the  blind  girl,  "  and  the 
water  cools  me.  I  will  place  this  bottle  by  my  bed- 
side, it  refreshes  in  these  summer  nights,  when  the 
dews  of  sleep  fall  not  on  our  lips.  Fair  Julia,  I  must 
leave  thee  very  early — so  lone  bids — perhaps  before 
thou  art  awake;  accept,  therefore,  now  my  congratu- 
lations." 

"  Thanks :  when  next  we  meet  you  may  find  Glau- 
cus  at  my  feet." 

They  had  retired  to  their  couches,  and  Julia,  worn 
out  by  the  excitement  of  the  day,  soon  slept.  But 
anxious  and  burning  thoughts  rolled  over  the  mind  of 
the  wakeful  Thessalian.  She  listened  to  the  cairn 
breathing  of  Julia ;  and  her  ear,  accustomed  to  the  fin- 
est distinctions  of  sound,  speedily  assured  her  of  the 
deep  slumber  of  her  companion. 

"  Now  befriend  me,  Venus !  "  said  she  softly. 

She  rose  gently,  and  poured  the  perfume  from  the 
gift  of  Julia  upon  the  marble  floor — she  rinsed  it  sev- 
eral times  carefully  with  the  water  that  was  beside  her, 
and  then  easily  finding  the  bed  of  Julia  (for  night  to 
her  was  as  day),  she  pressed  her  trembling  hand  un- 
der the  pillow  and  seized  the  potion.  Julia  stirred  not, 
her  breath  regularly  fanned  the  burning  cheek  of  the 
blind  girl.  Nydia,  then,  opening  the  phial,  poured  its 
contents  into  the  bottle,  which  easily  contained  them; 
And  then  refilling  the  former  reservoir  of  the  potion 
with  that  limpid  water  which  Julia  had  assured  her 
it  so  resembled,  she  once  more  placed  the  phial  in  its 
20 


306        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

former  place.  She  then  stole  again  to  her  couch,  and 
waited — with  what  theughts ! — the  dawning  day. 

The  sun  had  risen — Julia  slept  still — Nydia  noise- 
lessly dressed  herself,  placed  her  treasure  carefully  in 
her  vest,  took  up  her  staff,  and  hastened  to  quit  the 
house. 

The  porter,  Medon>  saluted  her  kindly  as  she  de- 
scended the  steps  that  led  to  the  street :  she  heard  him 
not;  her  mind  was  confused  and  lost  in  the  whirl  of 
tumultuous  thoughts,  each  thought  a  passion.  She 
felt  the  pure  morning  air  upon  her  cheek,  but  it  cooled 
not  her  scorching  veins. 

"  Glaucus,"  she  murmured,  "  all  the  love-charms  of 
the  wildest  magic  could  not  make  thee  love  me  as  I 
love  thee.  lone ! — ah ;  away  hesitation !  away  remorse ! 
Glaucus,  my  fate  is  in  thy  smile ;  and  thine !  O  hope ! 
O  joy !  O  transport ! — thy  fate  is  in  these  hands !  " 


BOOK   IV 

Philtra  nocent  animis,  vimque  furoris  habent. — OVID. 

Philtres  are  baneful  to  the  reasoning  mind, 
And  have  the  strength  of  madness. 

CHAPTER  I 

REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  ZEAL  OF  THE  EARLY  CHRISTIANS. 

TWO   MEN    COME  TO  A   PERILOUS   RESOLVE. WALLS 

HAVE  EARS PARTICULARLY  SACRED  WALLS. 

Whoever  regards  the  early  history  of  Christianity 
will  perceive  how  necessary  to  its  triumph  was  that 
fierce  spirit  of  zeal,  which,  fearing  no  danger,  accept- 
ing no  compromise,  inspired  its  champions  and  sus- 
tained its  martyrs.  In  a  dominant  church  the  genius 
of  intolerance  betrays  its  cause ; — in  a  weak  and  a  per- 
secuted church,  the  same  genius  mainly  supports.  It 
was  necessary  to  scorn,  to  loathe,  to  abhor  the  creeds 
of  other  men,  in  order  to  conquer  the  temptations 
which  they  presented — it  was  necessary  rigidly  to  be- 
lieve not  only  that  the  Gospel  was  the  true  faith,  but 
the  sole  true  faith  that  saved,  in  order  to  nerve  the 
disciple  to  the  austerity  of  its  doctrine,  and  to  encour- 
age him  to  the  sacred  and  perilous  chivalry  of  con- 
verting the  Polytheist  and  the  Heathen.  The  sectarian 
sternness  which  confined  virtue  and  heaven  to  a  chosen 
few,  which  saw  demons  in  other  gods,  and  the  penal- 
ties of  hell  in  another  religion — made  the  believer  nat- 

307 


308        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

urally  anxious  to  convert  all  to  whom  he  felt  the  ties 
of  human  affection;  and  the  circle  thus  traced  by 
benevolence  to  man  was  yet  more  widened  by  a  desire 
for  the  glory  of  God.  It  was  for  the  honour  of  the 
Christian  faith  that  the  Christian  boldly  forced  its  ten- 
ets upon  the  scepticism  of  some,  the  repugnance  of 
others,  the  sage  contempt  of  the  philosopher,  the  pious 
shudder  of  the  people; — his  very  intolerance  supplied 
him  with  his  fittest  instruments  of  success ;  and  the  soft 
Heathen  began  at  last  to  imagine  there  must  indeed  be 
something  holy  in  a  zeal  wholly  foreign  to  his  experi- 
ence, which  stopped  at  no  obstacle,  dreaded  no  danger, 
and  even  at  the  torture,  or  on  the  scaffold,  referred  a 
dispute  far  other  than  the  calm  differences  of  specu- 
lative philosophy  to  the  tribunal  of  an  Eternal  Judge. 
It  was  thus  that  the  same  fervour  which  made  the 
Churchman  of  the  middle  age  a  bigot  without  mercy, 
made  the  Christian  of  the  early  days  a  hero  without 
fear. 

Of  these  more  fiery,  daring,  and  earnest  natures,  not 
the  least  ardent  was  Olinthus.  No  sooner  had  Apae- 
cides  been  received  by  the  rites  of  baptism  into  the 
bosom  of  the  Church,  than  the  Nazarene  hastened  to 
make  him  conscious  of  the  impossibility  to  retain  the 
office  and  robes  of  priesthood.  He  could  not,  it  was 
evident,  profess  to  worship  God,  and  continue  even 
outwardly  to  honour  the  idolatrous  altars  of  the  Fiend. 

Nor  was  this  all ;  the  sanguine  and  impetuous  mind 
of  Olinthus  beheld  in  the  power  of  Apaecides  the  means 
of  divulging  to  the  deluded  people  the  juggling  mys- 
teries of  the  oracular  Isis.  He  thought  Heaven  had 
sent  this  instrument  of  his  design  in  order  to  disabuse 
the  eyes  of  the  crowd,  and  prepare  the  way,  perchance, 
for  the  conversion  of  a  whole  city.  He  did  not  hesi- 


tate  then  to  appeal  to  all  the  new-kindled  enthusiasm 
of  Apaecides,  to  arouse  his  courage,  and  to  stimulate 
his  zeal.  They  met,  according  to  previous  agreement, 
the  evening  after  the  baptism  of  Apaecides,  in  the  grove 
of  Cybele,  which  we  have  before  described. 

"  At  the  next  solemn  consultation  of  the  oracle,"  said 
Olinthus,  as  he  proceeded  in  the  warmth  of  his  ad- 
dress, "  advance  yourself  to  the  railing,  proclaim  aloud 
to  the  people  the  deception  they  endure,  invite  them  to 
enter,  to  be  themselves  the  witness  of  the  gross  but  art- 
ful mechanism  of  imposture  thou  hast  described  to  me. 
Fear  not — the  Lord,  who  protected  Daniel,  shall  pro- 
tect thee;  we,  the  community  of  Christians,  will  be 
amongst  the  crowd ;  we  will  urge  on  the  shrinking :  and 
in  the  first  flush  of  the  popular  indignation  and  shame, 
I  myself,  upon  those  very  altars,  will  plant  the  palm- 
branch  typical  of  the  Gospel — and  to  my  tongue  shall 
descend  the  rushing  Spirit  of  the  living  God." 

Heated  and  excited  as  he  was,  this  suggestion  was 
not  unpleasing  to  Apaecides.  He  was  rejoiced  at  so 
early  an  opportunity  of  distinguishing  his  faith  in  his 
new  sect,  and  to  his  holier  feelings  were  added  those 
of  a  vindictive  loathing  at  the  imposition  he  had  him- 
self suffered,  and  a  desire  to  avenge  it.  In  that  san- 
guine and  elastic  overbound  of  obstacles  (the  rashness 
necessary  to  all  who  undertake  venturous  and  lofty 
actions),  neither  Olinthus  nor  the  proselyte  perceived 
the  impediments  to  the  success  of  their  scheme,  which 
might  be  found  in  the  reverent  superstition  of  the  peo- 
ple themselves,  who  would  probably  be  loth,  before  the 
sacred  altars  of  the  great  Egyptian  goddess,  to  believe 
even  the  testimony  of  her  priest- against  her  power. 

Apaecides  then  assented  to  this  proposal  with  a  readi- 
ness which  delighted  Olinthus.  They  parted  with  the 


understanding  that  Olinthus  should  confer  with  the 
more  important  of  his  Christian  brethren  on  his  great 
enterprise,  should  receive  their  advice  and  the  assur- 
ances of  their  support  on  the  eventful  day.  It  so 
chanced  that  one  of  the  festivals  of  Isis  was  to  be  held 
on  the  second  day  after  this  conference.  The  festival 
proffered  a  ready  occasion  for  the  design.  They  ap- 
pointed to  meet  once  more  on  the  next  evening  at  the 
same  spot ;  and  in  that  meeting  were  finally  to  be  settled 
the  order  and  details  of  the  disclosure  for  the  foflowing 
day. 

It  happened  that  the  latter  part  of  this  conference 
had  been  held  near  the  sacellum,  or  small  chapel,  which 
I  have  described  in  the  early  part  of  this  work ;  and  so 
soon  as  the  forms  of  the  Christian  and  the  priest  had 
disappeared  from  the  grove,  a  dark  and  ungainly  figure 
emerged  from  behind  the  chapel. 

"  I  have  tracked  you  with  some  effect,  my  brother 
flamen,"  soliloquised  the  eavesdropper ;  "  you,  the 
priest  of  Isis,  have  not  for  mere  idle  discussion  con- 
ferred with  this  gloomy  Christian.  Alas !  that  I  could 
not  hear  all  your  precious  plot :  enough !  I  find,  at  least, 
that  you  meditate  revealing  the  sacred  mysteries,  and 
that  to-morrow  you  meet  again  at  this  place  to  plan 
the  how  and  the  when.  May  Osiris  sharpen  my  ears 
then  to  detect  the  whole  of  your  unheard-of  audacity ! 
When  I  have  learned  more  I  must  confer  at  once  with 
Arbaces.  We  will  frustrate  you,  my  friends,  deep  as 
you  think  yourselves.  At  present,  my  breast  is  a  locked 
treasury  of  your  secret." 

Thus  muttering,  Calenus,  for  it  was  he,  wrapped  his 
robe  round  him,  and  strode  thoughtfully  homeward. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        311 


CHAPTER   II 

A  CLASSIC  HOST,   COOK,  AND  KITCHEN. AP^ECIDES 

SEEKS   IONE. THEIR   CONVERSATION. 

It  was  then  the  day  for  Diomed's  banquet  to  the 
most  select  of  his  friends.  The  graceful  Glaucus,  the 
beautiful  lone,  the  official  Pansa,  the  high-born  Clo- 
dius,  the  immortal  Fulvius,  the  exquisite  Lepidus,  the 
epicurean  Sallust,  were  not  the  only  honourers  of  his 
festival.  He  expected,  also,  an  invalid  senator  from 
Rome  (a  man  of  considerable  repute  and  favour  at 
court)  and  a  great  warrior  from  Herculaneum,  who 
had  fought  with  Titus  against  the  Jews,  and  having  en- 
riched himself  prodigiously  in  the  wars,  was  always 
told  by  his  friends  that  his  country  was  eternally  in- 
debted to  his  disinterested  exertions !  The  party,  how- 
ever, extended  to  a  yet  greater  number ;  for  although, 
critically  speaking,  it  was,  at  one  time,  thought  inele- 
gant among  the  Romans  to  entertain  less  than  three  or 
more  than  nine  at  their  banquets,  yet  this  rule  was 
easily  disregarded  by  the  ostentatious.  And  we  are 
told,  indeed,  in  history,  that  one  of  the  most  splendid 
.of  these  entertainers  usually  feasted  a  select  party  of 
three  hundred.  Diomed,  however,  more  modest,  con- 
tented himself  with  doubling  the  number  of  the  Muses. 
His  party  consisted  of  eighteen,  no  unfashionable  num- 
ber in  the  present  day. 

It  was  the  morning  of  Diomed's  banquet ;  and  Dio- 
med himself,  though  he  greatly  affected  the  gentleman 
and  the  scholar,  retained  enough  of  his  mercantile  ex- 
perience to  know  that  a  master's  eye  makes  a  ready 
servant.  Accordingly,  with  his  tunic  ungirdled  on  his 


312        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

portly  stojmach,  his  easy  slippers  on  his  feet,  a  small 
wand  in  his  hand,  wherewith  he  now  directed  the  gaze 
and  now  corrected  the  back,  of  some  duller  menial,  he 
went  from  chamber  to  chamber  of  his  costly  villa. 

He  did  not  disdain  even  a  visit  to  that  sacred  apart- 
ment in  which  the  priests  of  the  festival  prepare  their 
offerings.  On  entering  the  kitchen,  his  ears  were 
agreeably  stunned  by  the  noise  of  dishes  and  pans,  of 
oaths  and  commands.  Small  as  this  indispensable 
chamber  seems  to  have  been  in  all  the  houses  of  Pom- 
peii, it  was,  nevertheless,  usually  fitted  up  with  all  that 
amazing  variety  of  stoves  and  shapes,  stewpans  and 
saucepans,  cutters  and  moulds,  without  which  a  cook 
of  spirit,  no  matter  whether  he  be  an  ancient  or  a  mod- 
ern, declares  it  utterly  impossible  that  he  can  give  you 
anything  to  eat.  And  as  fuel  was  then,  as  now,  dear 
and  scarce  in  those  regions,  great  seems  to  have  been 
the  dexterity  exercised  in  preparing  as  many  things  as 
possible  with  as  little  fire.  An  admirable  contrivance 
of  this  nature  may  be  still  seen  in  the  Neapolitan  Mu- 
seum, viz.,  a  portable  kitchen,  about  the  size  of  a  folio 
volume,  containing  stoves  for  four  dishes,  and  an  appa- 
ratus for  heating  water  or  other  beverages. 

Across  the  small  kitchen  flitted  many  forms  which 
the  quick  eye  of  the  master  did  not  recognise. 

"  Oh !  oh !  "  grumbled  he  to  himself,  "  That  cursed 
Congrio  hath  invited  a  whole  legion  of  cooks  to  assist 
him.  They  won't  serve  for  nothing,  and  this  is  another 
item  in  the  total  of  my  day's  expenses.  By  Bacchus ! 
thrice  lucky  shall  I  be  if  the  slaves  do  not  help  them- 
selves to  some  of  the  drinking  vessels :  ready,  alas,  are 
their  hands,  capacious  are  their  tunics.  Me  miserum!  " 

The  cooks,  however,  worked  on,  seemingly  heedless 
of  the  apparition  of  Diomed. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        313 

"  Ho,  Euclio,  your  egg-pan !  What,  is  this  the  larg- 
est? it  only  holds  thirty-three  eggs:  in  the  houses  7 
usually  serve,  the  smallest  egg-pan  holds  fifty,  if  need 
be!" 

"  The  unconscionable  rogue !  "  thought  Diomed ; 
"  he  talks  of  eggs  as  if  they  were  a  sesterce  a  hun- 
dred !  " 

"  By  Mercury !  "  cried  a  pert  little  culinary  disciple, 
scarce  in  his  novitiate ;  "  whoever  saw  such  antique 
sweetmeat  shapes  as  these? — it  is  impossible  to  do 
credit  to  one's  art  with  such  rude  materials.  Why,  Sal- 
lust's  commonest  sweetmeat  shape  represents  the  whole 

siege  of  Troy :  Hector  and  Paris,  and  Helen with 

little  Astyanax  and  the  Wooden  Horse  into  the  bar- 
gain!" 

"  Silence,  fool !  "  said  Congrio,  the  cook  of  the  house, 
who  seemed  to  leave  the  chief  part  of  the  battle  to  his 
allies.  "  My  master,  Diomed,  is  not  one  of  those  ex- 
pensive good-for-noughts,  who  must  have  the  last  fash- 
ion, cost  what  it  will !  " 

"  Thou  liest,  base  slave !  "  cried  Diomed,  in  a  great 
passion — "  and  thou  costest  me  already  enough  to  have 
ruined  Lucullus  himself !  Come  out  of  thy  den,  I  want 
to  talk  to  thee." 

The  slave,  with  a  sly  wink  at  his  confederates,  obeyed 
the  command. 

"  Man  of  three  letters,"  *  said  Diomed,  with  his  face 
of  solemn  anger,  "  how  didst  thou  dare  to  invite  all 
those  rascals  into  my  house? — I  see  thief  written  in 
every  line  of  their  faces." 

"  Yet,  I  assure  you,  master,  that  they  are  men  of 
most  respectable  character — the  best  cooks  of  the  place ; 
it  is  a  great  favour  to  get  them.  But  for  my  sake " 

1  The  common  witty  objurgation,  from  the  triliteral  word 
"fur"  (thief). 


314        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Thy  sake,  unhappy  Congrio !  "  interrupted  Dio- 
med ;  "  and  by  what  purloined  moneys  of  mine,  by  what 
reserved  filchings  from  marketing,  by  what  goodly 
meats  converted  into  grease,  and  sold  in  the  suburbs, 
by  what  false  charges  for  bronzes  marred,  and  earthen- 
ware broken — hast  thou  been  enabled  to  make  them 
serve  thee  for  thy  sake  ?  " 

"  Nay,  master,  do  not  impeach  my  honesty !  May 
the  gods  desert  me  if " 

"  Swear  not !  "  again  interrupted  the  choleric  Dio- 
med,  "  for  then  the  gods  will  smite  thee  for  a  perjurer, 
and  I  shall  lose  my  cook  on  the  eve  of  dinner.  But, 
enough  of  this  at  present :  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  thy  ill- 
favoured  assistants,  and  tell  me  no  tales  to-morrow  of 
vases  broken,  and  cups  miraculously  vanished,  or  thy 
whole  back  shall  be  one  pain.  Aftid  hark  thee!  thou 
knowest  thou  hast  made  me  pay  for  those  Phrygian 
attagens  l  enough,  by  Hercules,  to  have  feasted  a  sober 
man  for  a  year  together — see  that  they  be  not  one  iota 
over-roasted.  The  last  time,  O  Congrio,  that  I  gave  a 
banquet  to  my  friends,  when  thy  vanity  did  so  boldly 
undertake  the  becoming  appearance  of  a  Melian  crane 
— thou  knowest  it  came  up  like  a  stone  from  Etna — 
as  if  all  the  fires  of  Phlegethon  had  been  scorching  out 
its  juices.  Be  modest  this  time,  Congrio — wary  and 
modest.  Modesty  is  the  nurse  of  great  actions ;  and  in 
all  other  things,  as  in  this,  if  thou  wilt  not  spare  thy 
master's  purse,  at  least  consult  thy  master's  glory." 

"  There  shall  not  be  such  a  coena  seen  at  Pompeii 
since  the  days  of  Hercules." 

"  Softly,  softly — thy  cursed  boasting  again !  but  I 

1  The  attagen  of  Phrygia  or  Ionia  (the  bird  thus  anglicised 
in  the  plural)  was  held  in  peculiar  esteem  by  the  Romans. 
"  Attagen  carnis  suavissim£e."  (Athen.,  lib.  ix.  cap.  8,  9.) 
It  was  a  little  bigger  than  a  partridge. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        315 

say,  CoHgrio,  yon  homnnctihis — yon  pigmy  assailant  of 
my  cranes — yon  pert-tongued  neophyte  of  the  kitchen, 
was  there  aught  but  insolence  on  his  tongue  when  he 
maligned  the  comeliness  of  my  sweetmeat  shapes?  I 
would  not  be  out  of  the  fashion,  Congrio." 

"  It  is  but  the  custom  of  us  cooks,"  replied  Congrio, 
gravely,  "  to  undervalue  our  tools,  in  order  to  increase 
the  effect  of  our  art.  The  sweetmeat  shape  is  a  fair 
shape,  and  a  lovely ;  but  I  would  recommend  my  mas- 
ter at  the  first  occasion,  to  purchase  some  new  ones  of 
a " 

"  That  will  suffice,"  exclaimed  Diomed,  who  seemed 
resolved  never  to  allow  his  slave  to  finish  his  sentences. 
"  Now,  resume  thy  charge — shine — eclipse  thyself. 
Let  men  envy  Diomed  his  cook — let  the  slaves  of  Pom- 
peii style  thee  Congrio  the  great !  Go !  yet  stay — thou 
hast  not  spent  all  the  moneys  I  gave  thee  for  the  mark- 
eting? " 

''All!' — alas!  the  nightingales'  tongues  and  the 
Roman  tomacula,1  and  the  oysters  from  Britain,  and 
sundry  other  things  too  numerous  now  to  recite,  are 
yet  left  unpaid  for.  But  what  matter  ?  everyone  trusts 
the  Archimagirus  2  of  Diomed  the  wealthy !  " 

"Oh,  unconscionable  prodigal! — what  waste! — what 
profusion  ! — I  am  ruined  !  But  go,  hasten — inspect ! 
— taste ! — perform  ! — surpass  thyself !  Let  the  Roman 
senator  not  despise  the  poor  Pompeian.  Away,  slave — 
and  remember,  the  Phrygian  attagens." 

The  chief  disappeared  within  his  natural  domain,  and 
Diomed  rolled  back  his  portly  presence  to  the  more 
courtly  chambers.  All  was  to  his  liking — the  flowers 

*" candiduli  divina  tomacula  porci." — Juvenal,  x.  i.  355. 

A  rich  and  delicate  species  of  sausage. 

2  Archimagirus  was  the  lofty  title  of  the  chief  cook. 


316        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

were  fresh,  the  fountains  played  briskly,  the  mosaic 
pavements  were  smooth  as  mirrors. 

"  Where  is  my  daughter  Julia  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  At  the  bath.'" 

"  Ah  !  that  reminds  me ! — time  wanes ! — and  I  must 
bathe  also." 

Our  story  returns  to  Apaecides.  On  awakening  that 
day  from  the  broken  and  feverish  sleep  which  had  fol- 
lowed his  adoption  of  a  faith  so  strikingly  and  sternly 
at  variance  with  that  in  which  his  youth  had  been 
nurtured,  the  young  priest  could  scarcely  imagine  that 
he  was  not  yet  in  a  dream;  he  had  crossed  the  fatal 
river — the  past  was  henceforth  to  have  no  sympathy 
with  the  future ;  the  two  worlds  were  distinct  and  sepa- 
rate,— that  which  had  been,  from  that  which  was  to 
be.  To  what  a  bold  and  adventurous  enterprise  he  had 
pledged  his  life ! — to  unveil  the  mysteries  in  which  he 
had  participated — to  desecrate  the  altars  he  had  served 
— to  denounce  the  goddess  whose  ministering  robe  he 
wore !  Slowly  he  became  sensible  of  the  hatred  and  the 
horror  he  should  provoke  amongst  the  pious,  even  if 
successful ;  if  frustrated  in  his  daring  attempt,  what 
penalties  might  he  not  incur  for  an  offence  hitherto 
unheard  of — for  which  no  specific  law,  derived  from 
experience,  was  prepared  ;  and  which,  for  that  very  rea- 
son, precedents,  dragged  from  the  sharpest  armoury 
of  obsolete  and  inapplicable  legislation,  would  prob- 
ably be  distorted  to  meet !  His  friends, — the  sister  of 
his  youth, — could  he  expect  justice,  though  he  might 
receive  compassion,  from  them  ?  This  brave  and  heroic 
act  would  by  their  heathen  eyes  be  regarded,  perhaps, 
as  a  heinous  apostasy — at  the  best  as  a  pitiable  madness. 

He  dared,  he  renounced,  everything  in  this  world,  in 
the  hope  of  securing  that  eternity  in  the  next,  which 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        317 

had  so  suddenly  been  revealed  to  him.  While  these 
thoughts  on  the  one  hand  invaded  his  breast,  on  the 
other  hand  his  pride,  his  courage,  and  his  virtue 
mingled  with  reminiscences  of  revenge  for  deceit,  of 
indignant  disgust  at  fraud,  conspired  to  raise  and  to 
support  him. 

The  conflict  was  sharp  and  keen ;  but  his  new  feel- 
ings triumphed  over  his  old:  and  a  mighty  argument 
in  favour  of  wrestling  with  the  sanctities  of  old  opin- 
ions and  hereditary  forms  might  be  found  in  the  con- 
quest over  both,  achieved  by  that  humble  priest.  Had 
the  early  Christians  been  more  controlled  by  "  the  sol- 
emn plausibilities  of  custom  " — less  of  democrats  in 
the  pure  and  lofty  acceptation  of  that  perverted  word, 
— Christianity  would  have  perished  in  its  cradle! 

As  each  priest  in  succession  slept  several  nights  to- 
gether in  the  chambers  of  the  temple,  the  term  imposed 
on  Apaecides  was  not  yet  completed ;  and  when  he  had 
risen  from  his  couch,  attired  himself,  as  usual,  in  his 
robes,  and  left  his  narrow  chamber  he  found  himself 
before  the  altars  of  the  temple. 

In  the  exhaustion  of  his  late  emotions  he  had  slept 
far  into  the  morning,  and  the  vertical  sun  already 
poured  its  fervid  beams  over  the  sacred  place. 

"  Salve,  Apaecides ! "  said  a  voice,  whose  natural 
asperity  was  smoothed  by  long  artifice  into  an  almost 
displeasing  softness  of  tone.  "  Thou  art  late  abroad ; 
has  the  goddess  revealed  herself  to  thee  in  visions?  " 

"  Could  she  reveal  her  true  self  to  the  people,  Ca- 
lenus,  how  incenseless  would  be  these  altars !  " 

"  That,"  replied  Calenus,  "  may  possibly  be  true ;  but 
the  deity  is  wise  enough  to  hold  commune  with  none 
but  priests." 

"  A  time  may  come  when  she  will  be  unveiled  with- 
out her  own  acquiescence." 


3i8        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  It  is  not  likely :  she  has  triumphed  for  countless 
ages.  And  that  which  has  so  long  stood  the  test  of  time 
rarely  succumbs  to  the  lust  of  novelty.  But  hark  ye, 
young  brother !  these  sayings  are  indiscreet." 

"  It  is  not  for  thee  to  silence  them,"  replied  Apaecides 
haughtily. 

"  So  hot — yet  I  will  not  quarrel  with  thee.  Why, 
my  Apaecides,  has  not  the  Egyptian  convinced  thee  of 
the  necessity  of  our  dwelling  together  in  unity?  Has 
he  not  convinced  thee  of  the  wisdom  of  deluding  the 
people  and  enjoying  ourselves  ?  If  not,  oh,  brother !  he 
is  not  that  great  magician  he  is  esteemed." 

"  Thou,  then,  hast  shared  his  lessons  ?  "  said  Apae- 
cides, with  a  hollow  smile. 

"  Ay !  but  I  stood  less  in  need  of  them  than  thou. 
Nature  had  already  gifted  me  with  the  love  of  pleas- 
ure, and  the  desire  of  gain  and  power.  Long  is  the  way 
that  leads  the  voluptuary  to  the  severities  of  life ;  but 
it  is  only  one  step  from  pleasant  sin  to  sheltering 
hypocrisy.  Beware  the  vengeance  of  the  goddess,  if 
the  shortness  of  that  step  be  disclosed !  " 

"  Beware,  thou,  the  hour  when  the  tomb  shall  be  rent 
and  the  rottenness  exposed,"  returned  Apaecides,  sol- 
emnly. "Vale!" 

With  these  words  he  left  the  flamen  to  his  medita- 
tions. When  he  got  a  few  paces  from  the  temple,  he 
turned  to  look  back.  Calenus  had  already  disappeared 
in  the  entry  room  of  the  priests,  for  it  now  approached 
the  hour  of  that  repast  which,  called  prandium  by  the 
ancients,  answers  in  point  of  date  to  the  breakfast  of 
the  moderns.  The  white  and  graceful  fane  gleamed 
brightly  in  the  sun.  Upon  the  altars  before  it  rose  the 
incense  and  bloomed  the  garlands.  The  priest  gazed 
long  and  wistfully  upon  the  scene — it  was  the  last  time 
that  it  was  ever  beheld  by  him ! 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        319 

He  then  turned  and  pursued  his  way  slowly  towards 
the  house  of  lone ;  for  before  possibly  the  last  tie  that 
united  them  was  cut  in  twain — before  the  uncertain 
peril  of  the  next  day  was  incurred,  he  was  anxious  to 
see  his  last  surviving  relative,  his  fondest  as  his  earliest 
friend. 

He  arrived  at  her  house,  and  found  her  in  the  gar- 
den with  Nydia. 

"  This  is  kind,  Apaecides,"  said  lone,  joyfully ;  "  and 
how  eagerly  have  I  wished  to  see  thee ! — what  thanks 
do  I  not  owe  thee?  How  churlish  hast  thou  been  to 
answer  none  of  my  letters — to  abstain  from  coming 
hither  to  receive  the  expressions  of  my  gratitude !  Oh ! 
thou  hast  assisted  to  preserve  thy  sister  from  dis- 
hpnour!  What,  what  can  she  say  to  thank  thee,  now 
thou  art  come  at  last  ?  " 

"  My  sweet  lone,  thou  owest  me  no  gratitude,  for 
thy  cause  was  mine.  Let  us  avoid  that  subject,  let  us 
not  recur  to  that  impious  man — how  hateful  to  both  of 
us!  I  may  have  a  speedy  opportunity  to  teach  the 
world  the  nature  of  his  pretended  wisdom  and  hypo- 
critical severity.  But  let  us  sit  down,  my  sister ;  I  am 
wearied  with  the  heat  of  the  sun ;  let  us  sit  in  yonder 
shade,  and,  for  a  little  while  longer,  be  to  each  other 
what  we  have  been." 

Beneath  a  wide  plane-tree,  with  the  cistus  and  the 
arbutus  clustering  round  them,  the  living  fountain  be- 
fore, the  greensward  beneath  their  feet ;  the  gay  cicada, 
once  so  dear  to  Athens,  rising  merrily  ever  and  anon 
amidst  the  grass:  the  butterfly,  beautiful  emblem  of 
the  soul,  dedicated  to  Psyche,  and  which  has  contin- 
ued to  furnish  illustrations  to  the  Christian  bard,  rich 
in  the  glowing  colours  caught  from  Sicilian  skies,1 

1  In  Sicily  are  found,  perhaps,  the  most  beautiful  varieties 
of  the  butterfly. 


320        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

hovering  above  the  sunny  flowers,  itself  like  a  winged 
flower — in  this  spot,  and  this  scene,  the  brother  and 
the  sister  sat  together  for  the  last  time  on  earth.  You 
may  tread  now  on  the  same  place;  but  the  garden  is 
no  more,  the  columns  are  shattered,  the  fountain  hath 
ceased  to  play.  Let  the  traveller  search  amongst  the 
ruins  of  Pompeii  for  the  house  of  lone.  Its  remains 
are  yet  visible ;  but  I  will  not  betray  them  to  the  gaze 
of  commonplace  tourists.  He  who  is  more  sensitive 
than  the  herd  will  discover  them  easily :  when  he  has 
done  so,  let  him  keep  the  secret. 

They  sat  down,  and  Nydia,  glad  to  be  alone,  retired 
to  the  farther  end  of  the  garden. 

"  lone,  my  sister,"  said  the  young  convert,  "  place 
your  hand  upon  my  brow ;  let  me  feel  your  cool  touch. 
Speak  to  me,  too,  for  your  gentle  voice  is  like  a  breeze 
that  hath  freshness  as  well  as  music.  Speak  to  me,  but 
forbear  to  bless  me!  Utter  not  one  word  of  those 
forms  of  speech  which  our  childhood  was  taught  to 
consider  sacred !  " 

"  Alas !  and  what  then  shall  I  say  ?  Our  language 
of  affection  is  so  woven  with  that  of  worship,  that  the 
words  grow  chilled  and  trite  if  I  banish  from  them  al- 
lusion to  our  gods." 

"  Our  gods!"  murmured  Apaecides  with  a  shudder: 
"  thou  slightest  my  request  already." 

"  Shall  I  speak  then  to  thee  only  of  Isis  ?  " 

"  The  Evil  Spirit !  No,  rather  be  dumb  for  ever, 
unless  at  least  thou  canst — but  away,  away  this  talk! 
Not  now  will  we  dispute  and  cavil ;  not  now  will  we 
judge  harshly  of  each  other.  Thou,  regarding  me  as 
an  apostate !  and  I  all  sorrow  and  shame  for  thee  as 
an  idolater.  No,  my  sister,  let  us  avoid  such  topics 
and  such  thoughts.  In  thy  sweet  presence  a  calm  falls 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        321 

over  my  spirit.  For  a  little  while  I  forget.  As  I  thus 
lay  my  temples  on  thy  bosom,  as  I  thus  feel  thy  gentle 
arm  embrace  me,  I  think  that  we  are  children  once 
more,  and  that  the  heaven  smiles  equally  upon  both. 
For  oh  !  if  hereafter  I  escape,  no  matter  what  peril ;  and 
it  be  permitted  me  to  address  thee  on  one  sacred  and 
awful  subject ;  should  I  find  thine  ear  closed  and  thy 
heart  hardened,  what  hope  for  myself  could  counter- 
vail the  despair  for  thee?  In  thee,  my  sister,  I  behold 
a  likeness  made  beautiful,  made  noble  of  myself.  Shall 
the  mirror  live  for  ever,  and  the  form  itself  be  broken 
as  the  potter's  clay?  Ah,  no — no — thou  wilt  listen  to 
me  yet !  Dost  thou  remember  how  we  went  into  the 
fields  by  Baiae,  hand  in  hand  together,  to  pluck  the  flow- 
ers of  spring?  Even  so,  hand  in  hand,  shall  we  enter 
the  Eternal  Garden,  and  crown  ourselves  with  imper- 
ishable asphodel !  " 

Wondering  and  bewildered  by  words  she  could  not 
comprehend,  but  excited  even  to  tears  by  the  plaintive- 
ness  of  their  tone,  lone  listened  to  these  outpourings 
of  a  full  and  oppressed  heart.  In  truth,  Apaecides  him- 
self was  softened  much  beyond  his  ordinary  mood, 
which  to  outward  seeming  was  usually  either  sullen  or 
impetuous.  For  the  noblest  desires  are  of  a  jealous 
nature — they  engross,  they  absorb  the  soul,  and  often 
leave  the  splenetic  humours  stagnant  and  unheeded  at 
the  surface.  Unheeding  the  petty  things  around  us, 
we  are  deemed  morose ;  impatient  at  earthly  interrup- 
tion to  the  diviner  dreams,  we  are  thought  irritable  and 
churlish.  For  as  there  is  no  chimera  vainer  than  the 
hope  that  one  human  heart  shall  find  sympathy  in  an- 
other, so  none  ever  interpret  us  with  justice;  and  none, 
no,  not  our  nearest  and  our  dearest  ties,  forbear  with 
us  in  mercy !  When  we  are  dead  and  repentance  comes 


322        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

too  late,  both  friend  and  foe  may  wonder  to  think  how 
little  there  was  in  us  to  forgive ! 

"  I  will  talk  to  thee  then  of  our  early  years,"  said 
lone.  "  Shall  yon  blind  girl  sing  to  thee  of  the  days  of 
childhood?  Her  voice  is  sweet  and  musical,  and  she 
hath  a  song  on  that  theme  which  contains  none  of  those 
allusions  it  pains  thee  to  hear." 

"  Dost  thou  remember  the  words,  my  sister  ?  "  asked 
Apsecides. 

"  Methinks  yes ;  for  the  tune,  which  is  simple,  fixed 
them  on  my  memory." 

"  Sing  to  me  then  thyself.  My  ear  is  not  in  unison 
with  unfamiliar  voices ;  and  thine,  lone,  full  of  house- 
hold associations,  has  ever  been  to  me  more  sweet  than 
all  the  hireling  melodies  of  Lycia  or  of  Crete.  Sing  to 
me!" 

lone  beckoned  to  a  slave  that  stood  in  the  portico, 
and  sending  for  her  lute,  sang,  when  it  arrived,  to  a 
tender  and  simple  air,  the  following  verses : — 

REGRET   FOR   CHILDHOOD 


It  is  not  that  our  earlier  Heaven 
Escapes  its  April  showers, 
Or  that  to  childhood's  heart  is  given 
No  snake  amidst  the  flowers. 
Ah !  twined  with  grief 
Each  brightest  leaf, 
That's  wreath'd  us  by  the  Hours! 
Young  though  we  be,  the  Past  may  sting, 

The  Present  feed  its  sorrow ; 
But  hope  shines  bright  on  everything 
That  waits  us  with  the  morrow. 
Like  sun-lit  glades, 
The  dimmest  shades 
Some  rosy  beam  can  borrow. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        323 

ii. 

"  It  is  not  that  our  later  years 

Of  cares  are  woven  wholly, 
But  smiles  less  swiftly  chase  the  tears, 

And  wounds  are  healed  more  slowly. 
And  Memory's  vow 
To  lost  ones  now, 
Makes  joys  too  bright,  unholy. 
And  ever  fled  the  Iris  bow 

That  smiled  when  clouds  were  o'er  us, 
If  storms  should  burst,  uncheered  we  go, 
A  drearier  waste  before  us ; — 
And  with  the  toys 
Of  childish  joys, 
We've  broke  the  staff  that  bore  us !  " 

Wisely  and  delicately  had  lone  chosen  that  song, 
sad  though  its  burthen  seemed  ;  for  when  we  are  deeply 
mournful,  discordant  above  all  others  is  the  voice  of 
mirth :  the  fittest  spell  is  that  borrowed  from  melan- 
choly itself,  for  dark  thoughts  can  be  softened  down 
when  they  cannot  be  brightened ;  and  so  they  lose  the 
precise  and  rigid  outline  of  their  truth,  and  their  col- 
ours melt  into  the  ideal.  As  the  leech  applies  in 
remedy  to  the  internal  sore  some  outward  irritation, 
which,  by  a  gentler  wound,  draws  away  the  venom  of 
that  which  is  more  deadly,  thus,  in  the  rankling  festers 
of  the  mind,  our  art  is  to  divert  to  a  milder  sadness  on 
the  surface  the  pain  that  gnaweth  at  the  core.  And  so 
with  Apsecides,  yielding  to  the  influence  of  the  silver 
voice  that  reminded  him  of  the  past,  and  told  but  of 
half  the  sorrow  born  to  the  present,  he  forgot  his  more 
immediate  and  fiery  sources  of  anxious  thought.  He 
spent  hours  in  making  lone  alternately  sing  to,  and 
converse  with,  him ;  and  when  he  rose  to  leave  her,  it 
was  with  a  calmed  and  lulled  mind. 

"  lone,"  said  he,  as  he  pressed  her  hand,  "  should 


324        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

you  hear  my  name  blackened  and  maligned,  will  you 
credit  the  aspersion?" 

"  Never,  my  brother,  never !  " 

"  Dost  thou  not  imagine,  according  to  thy  belief,  that 
the  evildoer  is  punished  hereafter,  and  the  good  re- 
warded ?  " 

"Can  you  doubt  it?" 

"  Dost  thou  think,  then,  that  he  who  is  truly  good 
should  sacrifice  every  selfish  interest  in  his  zeal  for  vir- 
tue?" 

"  He  who  doth  so  is  the  equal  of  the  gods." 

"  And  thou  believest  that,  according  to  the  purity 
and  courage  with  which  he  thus  acts,  shall  be  his  por- 
tion of  bliss  beyond  the  grave  ?  " 

"  So  we  are  taught  to  hope." 

"  Kiss  me,  my  sister.  One  question  more. — Thou 
art  to  be  wedded  to  Glaucus ;  perchance  that  marriage 
may  separate  us  more  hopelessly — but  not  of  this  speak 
I  now ; — thou  art  to  be  married  to  Glaucus — dost  thou 
love  him  ?  Nay,  my  sister,  answer  me  by  words." 

"  Yes !  "  murmured  lone,  blushing. 

"  Dost  thou  feel  that,  for  his  sake,  thou  couldst  re- 
nounce pride,  brave  dishonour,  and  incur  death?  I 
have  heard  that  when  women  really  love  it  is  to  that 
excess." 

"  My  brother,  all  this  could  I  do  for  Glaucus,  and 
feel  that  it  were  not  a  sacrifice.  There  is  no  sacrifice  to 
those  who  love,  in  what  is  borne  for  the  one  we  love." 

"  Enough !  shall  woman  feel  thus  for  man,  and  man 
feel  less  devotion  to  his  God  ?  " 

He  spoke  no  more.  His  whole  countenance  seemed 
instinct  and  inspired  with  a  divine  life:  his  chest 
swelled  proudly ;  his  eyes  glowed :  on  his  forehead  was 
writ  the  majesty  of  a  man  who  can  dare  be  noble !  He 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        325 

turned  to  meet  the  eyes  of  lone — earnest,  wistful,  fear- 
ful ; — he  kissed  her  fondly,  strained  her  warmly  to  his 
breast,  and  in  a  moment  more  he  had  left  the  house. 

Long  did  lone  remain  in  the  same  place,  mute  and 
thoughtful.  The  maidens  again  and  again  came  to 
warn  her  of  the  deepening  noon,  and  her  engagement 
to  Diomed's  banquet.  At  length  she  woke  from  her 
reverie,  and  prepared  not  with  the  pride  of  beauty,  but 
listless  and  melancholy,  for  the  festival:  one  thought 
alone  reconciled  her  to  the  promised  visit — she  should 
meet  Glaucus — she  could  confide  to  him  her  alarm  and 
uneasiness  for  her  brother. 


CHAPTER   III 

A   FASHIONABLE   PARTY   AND   A   DINNER   A   LA   MODE   IN 
POMPEII. 

Meanwhile  Sallust  and  Glaucus  were  slowly  stroll- 
ing towards  the  house  of  Diomed.  Despite  the  habits 
of  his  life,  Sallust  was  not  devoid  of  many  estimable 
qualities.  He  would  have  been  an  active  friend,  a  use- 
ful citizen — in  short  an  excellent  man,  if  he  had  not 
taken  it  into  his  head  to  be  a  philosopher.  Brought  up 
in  the  schools  in  which  Roman  plagiarism  worshipped 
the  echo  of  Grecian  wisdom,  he  had  imbued  himself 
with  those  doctrines  by  which  the  later  Epicureans  cor- 
rupted the  simple  maxims  of  their  great  master.  He 
gave  himself  altogether  up  to  pleasure,  and  imagined 
there  was  no  sage  like  a  boon  companion.  Still,  how- 
ever, he  had  a  considerable  degree  of  learning,  wit,  and 
good  nature ;  and  the  hearty  frankness  of  his  very  vices 
seemed  like  virtue  itself  beside  the  utter  corruption  of 


326        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Clodius  and  the  prostrate  effeminacy  of  Lepidus;  and 
therefore  Glaucus  liked  him  the  best  of  his  compan- 
ions ;  and  he,  in  turn,  appreciating  the  nobler  qualities 
of  the  Athenian,  loved  him  almost  as  much  as  a  cold 
muraena,  or  a  bowl  of  the  best  Falernian. 

"  This  is  a  vulgar  old  fellow  this  Diomed,"  said  Sal- 
lust  ;  "  but  he  has  some  good  qualities — in  his  cellar !  " 

"  And  some  charming  ones — in  his  daughter." 

"  True,  Glaucus ;  but  you  are  not  much  moved  by 
them,  methinks.  I  fancy  Clodius  is  desirous  to  be  your 
successor." 

"  He  is  welcome.  At  the  banquet  of  Julia's  beauty, 
no  guest,  be  sure,  is  considered  a  musca."  * 

"  You  are  severe :  but  she  has,  indeed,  something  of 
the  Corinthian  about  her — they  will  be  well  matched 
after  all !  What  good-natured  fellows  we  are  to  asso- 
ciate with  that  gambling  good-for-nought." 

"  Pleasure  unites  strange  varieties,"  answered  Glau- 
cus. "  He  amuses  me " 

"  And  flatters  ; — but  then  he  pays  himself  well !  He 
powders  his  praise  with  gold-dust." 

"  You  often  hint  that  he  plays  unfairly — think  you 
so  really  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Glaucus,  a  Roman  noble  has  his  dignity 
to  keep  up — dignity  is  very  expensive — Clodius  must 
cheat  like  a  scoundrel  in  order  to  live  like  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  Ha,  ha ! — well,  of  late  I  have  renounced  the  dice. 
Ah !  Sallust,  when  I  am  wedded  to  lone,  I  trust  I  may 
yet  redeem  a  youth  of  follies.  We  are  both  born  for 
better  things  than  those  in  which  we  sympathise  now — 
born  to  render  our  worship  in  nobler  temples  than  the 
sty  of  Epicurus." 

1  Unwelcome  and  uninvited  guests  were  called  muscae,  or 
flies. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        327 

"  Alas !  "  returned  Sallust,  in  rather  a  melancholy 
tone,  "  what  do  we  know  more  than  this — life  is  short 
— beyond  the  grave  all  is  dark  ?  there  is  no  wisdom  like 
that  which  says  '  enjoy.'  " 

"  By  Bacchus !  I  doubt  sometimes  if  we  do  enjoy 
the  utmost  of  which  life  is  capable." 

"  I  am  a  moderate  man,"  returned  Sallust,  "  and  do 
not  ask  '  the  utmost.'  We  are  like  malefactors,  and  in- 
toxicate ourselves  with  wine  and  myrrh,  as  we  stand 
on  the  brink  of  death  ;  but,  if  we  did  not  do  so,  the  abyss 
would  look  very  disagreeable.  I  own  that  I  was  in- 
clined to  be  gloomy  until  I  took  so  heartily  to  drinking 
— that  is  a  new  life,  my  Glaucus." 

"  Yes !  but  it  brings  us  next  morning  to  a  new  death." 

"  Why,  the  next  morning  is  unpleasant,  I  own ;  but, 
then,  if  it  were  not  so,  one  would  never  be  inclined  to 
read.  I  study  betimes — because,  by  the  gods!  I  am 
generally  unfit  for  anything  else  till  noon." 

"Fie,  Scythian!" 

"  Pshaw !  the  fate  of  Pentheus  to  him  who  denies 
Bacchus." 

"  Well,  Sallust,  with  all  your  faults,  you  are  the  best 
profligate  I  ever  met :  and  verily,  if  I  were  in  danger  of 
life,  you  are  the  only  man  in  all  Italy  who  would 
stretch  out  a  finger  to  save  me." 

"  Perhaps  /  should  not,  if  it  were  in  the  middle  of 
supper.  But,  in  truth,  we  Italians  are  fearfully  self- 
ish." 

"  So  are  all  men  who  are  not  free,"  said  Glaucus, 
with  a  sigh.  "  Freedom  alone  makes  men  sacrifice  to 
each  other." 

"  Freedom,  then,  must  be  a  very  fatiguing  thing  to 
an  Epicurean,"  answered  Sallust.  "  But  here  we  are 
at  our  host's." 


328        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

As  Diomed's  villa  is  one  of  the  most  considerable  in 
point  of  size  of  any  yet  discovered  at  Pompeii,  and  is, 
moreover,  built  much  according  to  the  specific  instruc- 
tions for  a  suburban  villa  laid  down  by  the  Roman 
architect,  it  may  not  be  uninteresting  briefly  to  de- 
scribe the  plan  of  the  apartments  through  which  our 
visitors  passed. 

They  entered,  then,  by  the  same  small  vestibule  at 
which  we  have  before  been  presented  to  the  aged 
Medon,  and  passed  at  once  into  a  colonnade,  technically 
termed  the  peristyle;  for  the  main  difference  between 
the  suburban  villa  and  the  town  mansion  consisted  in 
placing,  in  the  first  the  said  colonnade  in  exactly  the 
same  place  as  that  which  in  the  town  mansion  was  oc- 
cupied by  the  atrium.  In  the  centre  of  the  peristyle 
was  an  open  court,  which  contained  the  impluvium. 

From  this  peristyle  descended  a  staircase  to  the  of- 
fices ;  another  narrow  passage  on  the  opposite  side  com- 
municated with  a  garden ;  various  small  apartments 
surrounded  the  colonnade,  appropriated  probably  to 
country  visitors.  Another  door  to  the  left  on  entering 
communicated  with  a  small  triangular  portico,  which 
belonged  to  the  baths  ;  and  behind  was  the  wardrobe,  in 
which  were  kept  the  vests  of  the  holiday  suits  of  the 
slaves,  and,  perhaps,  of  the  master.  Seventeen  cen- 
turies afterwards  were  found  those  relics  of  ancient 
finery  calcined  and  crumbling;  kept  longer,  alas,  than 
their  thrifty  lord  foresaw. 

Return  we  to  the  peristyle,  and  endeavour  now  to 
present  to  the  reader  a  coup  d'ceil  of  the  whole  suite  of 
apartments,  which  immediately  stretched  before  the 
steps  of  the  visitors. 

Let  him  then  first  imagine  the  columns  of  the  por- 
tico, hung  with  festoons  of  flowers ;  the  columns  them- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        329 

selves  in  the  lower  part  painted  red,  and  the  walls 
around  glowing  with  various  frescoes ;  then  looking 
beyond  a  curtain,  three  parts  drawn  aside,  the  eye 
caught  the  tablinum  or  saloon  (which  was  closed  at 
will  by  glazed  doors,  now  slid  back  into  the  walls).  On 
either  side  of  this  tablinum  were  small  rooms,  one  of 
which  was  a  kind  of  cabinet  of  gems ;  and  these  apart- 
ments, as  well  as  the  tablinum,  communicated  with  a 
long  gallery,  which  opened  at  either  end  upon  terraces ; 
and  between  the  terraces,  and  communicating  with  the 
central  part  of  the  gallery,  was  a  hall  in  which  the  ban- 
quet was  that  day  prepared.  All  these  apartments, 
though  almost  on  a  level  with  the  street,  were  one  story 
above  the  garden ;  and  the  terraces  communicating 
with  the  gallery  were  continued  into  corridors,  raised 
above  the  pillars  which,  to  the  right  and  left,  skirted 
the  garden  below. 

Beneath,  and  on  a  level  with  the  garden,  ran  the 
apartments  we  have  already  described  as  chiefly  appro- 
priated to  Julia. 

In  the  gallery,  then,  just  mentioned,  Diomed  received 
his  guests. 

The  merchant  affected  greatly  the  man  of  letters,  and 
therefore  he  also  affected  a  passion  for  everything 
Greek ;  he  paid  particular  attention  to  Glaucus. 

"  You  will  see,  my  friend,"  said  he,  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand,  "  that  I  am  a  little  classical  here — a  little 
Cecropian — eh  ?  The  hall  in  which  we  shall  sup  is  bor- 
rowed from  the  Greeks.  It  is  an  CEcus  Cyzicene. 
Noble  Sallust,  they  have  not,  I  am  told,  this  sort  of 
apartment  in  Rome." 

"Oh!"  replied  Sallust,  with  a  half  smile;  "you 
Pompeians  combine  all  that  is  most  eligible  in  Greece 
and  in  Rome ;  may  you,  Diomed,  combine  the  viands  as 
well  as  the  architecture !  " 


330        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  You  shall  see — you  shall  see,  my  Sallust,"  replied 
the  merchant.  "  We  have  a  taste  at  Pompeii,  and  we 
have  also  money." 

"  They  are  two  excellent  things,"  replied  Sallust. 
"  But,  behold,  the  lady  Julia !  " 

The  main  difference,  as  I  have  before  remarked,  in 
the  manner  of  life  observed  among  the  Athenians  and 
Romans,  was,  that  with  the  first,  the  modest  women 
rarely  or  never  took  part  in  entertainments ;  with  the 
latter  they  were  the  common  ornaments  of  the  ban- 
quet ;  but  when  they  were  present  at  the  feast,  it  usually 
terminated  at  an  early  hour. 

Magnificently  robed  in  white,  interwoven  with  pearls 
and  threads  of  gold,  the  handsome  Julia  entered  the 
apartment. 

Scarcely  had  she  received  the  salutation  of  the  two 
guests,  ere  Pansa  and  his  wife,  Lepidus,  Clodius,  and 
the  Roman  senator,  entered  almost  simultaneously; 
then  came  the  widow  Fulvia;  then  the  poet  Fulvius, 
like  to  the  widow  in  name  if  in  nothing  else ;  the  war- 
rior from  Herculaneum,  accompanied  by  his  umbra, 
next  stalked  in ;  afterwards,  the  less  eminent  of  the 
guests.  lone  yet  tarried. 

It  was  the  mode  among  the  courteous  ancients  to 
flatter  whenever  it  was  in  their  power:  accordingly  it 
was  a  sign  of  ill-breeding  to  seat  themselves  imme- 
diately on  entering  the  house  of  their  host.  After  per- 
forming the  salutation,  which  was  usually  accom- 
plished by  the  same  cordial  shake  of  the  right  hand 
which  we  ourselves  retain,  and  sometimes  by  the  yet 
more  familiar  embrace,  they  spent  several  minutes  in 
surveying  the  apartment,  and  admiring  the  bronzes, 
the  pictures,  or  the  furniture,  with  which  it  was 
adorned — a  mode  very  impolite  according  to  our  re- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        331 

fined  English  notions,  which  place  good  breeding  in  in- 
difference. We  would  not  for  the  world  express  much 
admiration  of  another  man's  house,  for  fear  it  should 
be  thought  we  had  never  seen  anything  so  fine  before ! 

"  A  beautiful  statue  this  of  Bacchus !  "  said  the  Ro- 
man senator. 

"  A  mere  trifle !  "  replied  Diomed. 

"  What  charming  paintings !  "  said  Fulvia. 

"  Mere  trifles !  "  answered  the  owner. 

'*  Exquisite  candelabra !  "  cried  the  warrior. 

"  Exquisite !  "  echoed  his  umbra. 

"  Trifles !  trifles  !  "  reiterated  the  merchant. 

Meanwhile,  Glaucus  found  himself  by  one  of  the 
windows  of  the  gallery,  which  communicated  with  the 
terraces,  and  the  fair  Julia  by  his  side. 

"  Is  it  an  Athenian  virtue,  Glaucus,"  said  the  mer- 
chant's daughter,  "  to  shun  those  whom  we  once 
sought  ?  " 

"  Fair  Julia— no !  " 

"  Yet  methinks  it  is  one  of  the  qualities  of  Glaucus." 

"  Glaucus  never  shuns  a  friend! "  replied  the  Greek, 
with  some  emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

"  May  Julia  rank  among  the  number  of  his  friends  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  an  honour  to  the  emperor  to  find  a 
friend  in  one  so  lovely." 

"  You  evade  my  question,"  returned  the  enamoured 
Julia.  "  But  tell  me,  is  it  true  that  you  admire  the  Nea- 
politan lone?  " 

"  Does  not  beauty  constrain  our  admiration  ?  " 

"  Ah !  subtle  Greek,  still  do  you  fly  the  meaning  of 
my  words.  But  say,  shall  Julia  be  indeed  your 
friend  ?  " 

"  If  she  will  so  favour  me,  blessed  be  the  gods !  The 
day  in  which  I  am  thus  honoured  shall  be  ever  marked 
in  white." 


332        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Yet,  even  while  you  speak,  your  eye  is  restless — 
your  colour  comes  and  goes — you  move  away  invol- 
untarily— you  are  impatient  to  join  lone!  " 

For  at  that  moment  lone  had  entered,  and  Glaucus 
had  indeed  betrayed  the  emotion  noticed  by  the  jealous 
beauty. 

"  Can  admiration  to  one  woman  make  me  unworthy 
the  friendship  of  another?  Sanction  not  so,  O  Julia, 
the  libels  of  the  poets  on  your  sex !  " 

"  Well,  you  are  right — or  I  will  learn  to  think  so. 
Glaucus,  yet  one  moment !  You  are  to  wed  lone ;  is  it 
not  so?" 

"If  the  Fates  permit,  such  is  my  blessed  hope." 

"  Accept,  then,  from  me,  in  token  of  our  new  friend- 
ship, a  present  for  your  bride.  Nay,  it  is  the  custom  of 
friends,  you  know,  always  to  present  to  bride  and  bride- 
groom some  such  little  marks  of  their  esteem  and  fa- 
vouring wishes." 

"  Julia !  I  cannot  refuse  any  token  of  friendship  from 
one  like  you.  I  will  accept  the  gift  as  an  omen  from 
Fortune  herself." 

"  Then,  after  the  feast,  when  the  guests  retire,  you 
will  descend  with  me  to  my  apartment,  and  receive  it 
from  my  hands.  Remember !  "  said  Julia,  as  she  joined 
the  wife  of  Pansa,  and  left  Glaucus  to  seek  lone. 

The  widow  Fulvia  and  the  spouse  of  the  aedile  were 
engaged  in  high  and  grave  discussion. 

"  O  Fulvia !  I  assure  you  that  the  last  account  from 
Rome  declares  that  the  frizzling  mode  of  dressing  the 
hair  is  growing  antiquated  ;  they  only  now  wear  it  built 
up  in  a  tower,  like  Julia's,  or  arranged  as  a  helmet — 
the  Galerian  fashion,  like  mine,  you  see:  it  has  a  fine 
effect,  I  think.  I  assure  you  Vespius  (Vespius  was  the 
name  of  the  Herculaneum  hero)  admires  it  greatly." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        333 

"  And  nobody  wears  the  hair  like  yon  Neapolitan,  in 
the  Greek  way." 

"  What,  parted  in  front,  with  the  knot  behind  ?  Oh, 
no  ;  how  ridiculous  it  is !  it  reminds  one  of  the  statue  of 
Diana !  Yet  this  lone  is  handsome,  eh?  " 

"  So  the  men  say ;  but  then  she  is  rich :  she  is  to  marry 
the  Athenian — I  wish  her  joy.  He  will  not  be  long 
faithful,  I  suspect ;  those  foreigners  are  very  faithless." 

"  Oh,  Julia !  "  said  Fulvia,  as  the  merchant's  daugh- 
ter joined  them ;  "  have  you  seen  the  tiger  yet?  " 

"No!" 

"  Why,  all  the  ladies  have  been  to  see  him.  He  is  so 
handsome !  " 

"  I  hope  we  shall  find  some  criminal  or  other  for  him 
and  the  lion,"  replied  Julia.  "  Your  husband  (turning 
to  Pansa's  wife)  is  not  so  active  as  he  should  be  in  this 
matter." 

"  Why,  really,  the  laws  are  too  mild,"  replied  the 
dame  of  the  helmet.  "  There  are  so  few  offences  to 
which  the  punishment  of  the  arena  can  be  awarded ; 
and  then,  too,  the  gladiators  are  growing  effeminate? 
The  stoutest  bestiarii  declare  they  are  willing  enough 
to  fight  a  boar  or  a  bull ;  but  as  for  a  lion  or  a  tiger,  they 
think  the  game  too  much  in  earnest." 

"  They  are  worthy  of  a  mitre,"  1  replied  Julia,  in  dis- 
dain. 

"  Oh !  have  you  seen  the  new  house  of  Fulvius,  the 
dear  poet  ?  "  said  Pansa's  wife. 

"  No:  is  it  handsome?" 

"  Very ! — such  good  taste.  But  they  say,  my  dear, 
that  he  has  such  improper  pictures !  He  won't  show 
them  to  the  women :  how  ill-bred !  " 

1  Mitres  were  worn  sometimes  by  men,  and  considered  a 
great  mark  of  effeminacy. 


334        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Those  poets  are  always  odd,"  said  the  widow. 
"  But  he  is  an  interesting  man ;  what  pretty  verses  he 
writes !  We  improve  very  much  in  poetry :  it  is  im- 
possible to  read  the  old  stuff  now." 

"  I  declare  I  am  of  your  opinion,"  returned  the  lady 
of  the  helmet.  "  There  is  so  much  more  force  and 
energy  in  the  modern  school." 

The  warrior  sauntered  up  to  the  ladies. 

"  It  reconciles  me  to  peace,"  said  he,  "  when  I  see 
such  faces." 

"  Oh !  you  heroes  are  ever  flatterers,"  returned  Ful- 
via,  hastening  to  appropriate  the  compliment  specially 
to  herself. 

"  By  this  chain,  which  I  received  from  the  em- 
peror's own  hand,"  replied  the  warrior,  playing  with  a 
short  chain  which  hung  round  the  neck  like  a  collar, 
instead  of  descending  to  the  breast,  according  to  the 
fashion  of  the  peaceful — "  by  this  chain,  you  wrong 
me !  I  am  a  blunt  man — a  soldier  should  be  so." 

"  How  do  you  find  the  ladies  of  Pompeii  generally  ?  " 
said  Julia. 

"  By  Venus,  most  beautiful !  They  favour  me  a  lit- 
tle, it  is  true,  and  that  inclines  my  eyes  to  double  their 
charms." 

"  We  love  a  warrior,"  said  the  wife  of  Pansa. 

"  I  see  it :  by  Hercules !  it  is  even  disagreeable  to  be 
too  celebrated  in  these  cities.  At  Herculaneum  they 
climb  the  roof  of  my  atrium  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  me 
through  the  compluvium ;  the  admiration  of  one's  citi- 
zens is  pleasant  at  first,  but  burthensome  afterwards." 

"  True,  true,  O  Vespius !  "  cried  the  poet,  joining  the 
group :  "  I  find  it  so  myself." 

"  You !  "  said  the  stately  warrior,  scanning  the  small 
form  of  the  poet  with  ineffable  disdain.  "  In  what 
legion  have  you  served  ?  " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         335 

"  You  may  see  my  spoils,  my  exuviae,  in  the  forum 
itself,"  returned  the  poet,  with  a  significant  glance  at 
the  women.  "  I  have  been  among  the  tent-companions, 
the  contubernales,  of  the  great  Mantuan  himself." 

"  I  know  no  general  from  Mantua,"  said  the  war- 
rior, gravely.  "  What  campaign  have  you  served  ?  " 

"  That  of  Helicon." 

"  I  never  heard  of  it." 

"  Nay,  Vespius,  he  does  but  joke,"  said  Julia,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Joke !    By  Mars,  am  I  a  man  to  be  joked?  " 

"  Yes ;  Mars  himself  was  in  love  with  the  mother  of 
jokes,"  said  the  poet,  a  little  alarmed.  "  Know,  then, 
O  Vespius !  that  I  am  the  poet  Fulvius.  It  is  I  who 
make  warriors  immortal !  " 

"  The  gods  forbid !  "  whispered  Sallust  to  Julia.  "  If 
Vespius  were  made  immortal,  what  a  specimen  of  tire- 
some braggadocio  would  be  transmitted  to  posterity !  " 

The  soldier  looked  puzzled ;  when,  to  the  infinite  re- 
lief of  himself  and  his  companions,  the  signal  for  the 
feast  was  given. 

As  we  already  witnessed  at  the  house  of  Glaucus  the 
ordinary  routine  of  a  Pompeian  entertainment,  the 
reader  is  spared  any  second  detail  of  the  courses,  and 
the  manner  in  which  they  were  introduced. 

Diomed,  who  was  rather  ceremonious,  had  appointed 
a  nomenclator,  or  appointer  of  places,  to  each  guest. 

The  reader  understands  that  the  festive  board  was 
composed  of  three  tables ;  one  at  the  centre,  and  one  at 
each  wing.  It  was  only  at  the  outer  side  of  these  tables 
that  the  guests  reclined;  the  inner  space  was  left  un- 
tenanted,  for  the  greater  convenience  of  the  waiters 
or  ministri.  The  extreme  corner  of  one  of  the  wings 
was  appropriated  to  Julia  as  the  lady  of  the  feast ;  that 


336        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

next  her,  to  Diomed.  At  one  corner  of  the  centre  table 
was  placed  the  aedile;  at  the  opposite  corner,  the  Ro- 
man senator — these  were  the  posts  of  honour.  The 
other  guests  were  arranged  so  that  the  young  (gentle- 
man or  lady)  should  sit  next  each  other,  and  the  more 
advanced  in  years  be  similarly  matched.  An  agreeable 
provision  enough,  but  one  which  must  often  have  of- 
fended those  who  wished  to  be  thought  still  young. 

The  chair  of  lone  was  next  to  the  couch  of  Glaucus.1 
The  seats  were  veneered  with  tortoise-shell,  and  cov- 
ered with  quilts  stuffed  with  feathers,  and  ornamented 
with  costly  embroideries.  The  modern  ornaments  of 
epergne  or  plateau  were  supplied  by  images  of  the 
gods,  wrought  in  bronze,  ivory,  and  silver.  The  sacred 
salt-cellar  and  the  familiar  Lares  were  not  forgotten. 
Over  the  table  and  the  seats  a  rich  canopy  was  sus- 
pended from  the  ceiling.  At  each  corner  of  the  table 
were  lofty  candelabra — for  though  it  was  early  noon, 
the  room  was  darkened — while  from  tripods,  placed  in 
different  parts  of  the  room,  distilled  the  odour  of 
myrrh  and  frankincense ;  and  upon  the  abacus,  or  side- 
board, large  vases  and  various  ornaments  of  silver  were 
ranged,  much  with  the  same  ostentation  (but  with 
more  than  the  same  taste)  that  we  find  displayed  at  a 
modern  feast. 

The  custom  of  grace  was  invariably  supplied  by  that 
of  libations  to  the  gods ;  and  Vesta,  as  queen  of  the 
household  gods,  usually  received  first  that  graceful 
homage. 

This  ceremony  being  performed,  the  slaves  show- 
ered flowers  upon  the  couches  and  the  floor,  and 

1  In  formal  parties  the  women  sat  in  chairs, — the  men  re- 
clined. It  was  only  in  the  bosom  of  families  that  the  same 
ease  was  granted  to  both  sexes — the  reason  is  obvious. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        337 

crowned  each  guest  with  rosy  garlands,  intricately 
woven  with  ribands,  tied  by  the  rind  of  the  linden-tree, 
and  each  intermingled  with  the  ivy  and  the  amethyst 
— supposed  preventives  against  the  effect  of  wine ;  the 
wreaths  of  the  women  only  were  exempted  from  these 
leaves,  for  it  was  not  the  fashion  for  them  to  drink 
wine  in  public.  It  was  then  that  the  president  Diomed 
thought  it  advisable  to  institute  a  basileus,  or  director 
of  the  feast — an  important  office,  sometimes  chosen  by 
lot;  sometimes,  as  now,  by  the  master  of  the  enter- 
tainment. 

Diomed  was  not  a  little  puzzled  as  to  his  election. 
The  invalid  senator  was  too  grave  and  too  infirm  for 
the  proper  fulfilment  of  his  duty ;  the  aedile  Pansa  was 
adequate  enough  to  the  task;  but  then,  to  choose  the 
next  in  official  rank  to  the  senator,  was  an  affront  to 
the  senator  himself.  While  deliberating  between  the 
merits  of  the  others,  he  caught  the  mirthful  glance  of 
Sallust,  and,  by  a  sudden  inspiration,  named  the  jovial 
epicure  to  the  rank  of  director,  or  arbiter  bibendi. 

Sallust  received  the  appointment  with  becoming  hu- 
mility. 

"  I  shall  be  a  merciful  king,"  said  he,  "  to  those  who 
drink  deep;  to  a  recusant,  Minos  himself  shall  be  less 
inexorable.  Beware !  " 

The  slaves  handed  round  basins  of  perfumed  water, 
by  which  lavation  the  feast  commenced:  and  now  the 
table  groaned  under  the  initiatory  course. 

The  conversation,  at  first  desultory  and  scattered,  al- 
lowed lone  and  Glaucus  to  carry  on  those  sweet  whis- 
pers, which  are  worth  all  the  eloquence  in  the  world. 
Julia  watched  them  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  How  soon  shall  her  place  be  mine?  "  thought  she. 

But  Clodius,  who  sat  at  the  centre  table,  so  as  to  ob- 
22 


338        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

serve  well  the  countenance  of  Julia,  guessed  her  pique, 
and  resolved  to  profit  by  it.  He  addressed  her  across 
the  table  in  set  phrases  of  gallantry ;  and  as  he  was 
of  high  birth  and  of  a  showy  person,  the  vain  Julia  was 
not  so  much  in  love  as  to  be  insensible  to  his  attentions. 

The  slaves,  in  the  interim,  were  constantly  kept 
upon  the  alert  by  the  vigilant  Sallust,  who  chased  one 
cup  by  another  with  a  celerity  which  seemed  as  if  he 
were  resolved  upon  exhausting  those  capacious  cellars 
which  the  reader  may  yet  see  beneath  the  house  of  Dio- 
med.  The  worthy  merchant  began  to  repent  his  choice, 
as  amphora  after  amphora  was  pierced  and  emptied. 
The  slaves,  all  under  the  age  of  manhood  (the  youngest 
being  about  ten  years  old, — it  was  they  who  filled  the 
wine, — the  eldest,  some  five  years  older,  mingled  it  with 
water),  seemed  to  share  in  the  zeal  of  Sallust;  and  the 
face  of  Diomed  began  to  glow  as  he  watched  the  pro- 
voking complacency  with  which  they  seconded  the  ex- 
ertions of  the  king  of  the  feast. 

"  Pardon  me,  O  senator !  "  said  Sallust,  "  I  see  you 
flinch ;  your  purple  hem  cannot  save  you — drink !  " 

"  By  the  gods,"  said  the  senator,  coughing,  "  my 
lungs  are  already  on  fire ;  you  proceed  with  so  miracu- 
lous a  swiftness,  that  Phaeton  himself  was  nothing  to 
you.  I  am  infirm,  O  pleasant  Sallust;  you  must  ex- 
onerate me." 

"  Not  I,  by  Vesta !  I  am  an  impartial  monarch — 
drink!" 

The  poor  senator,  compelled  by  the  laws  of  the  table, 
was  forced  to  comply.  Alas !  every  cup  was  bringing 
him  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  Stygian  pool. 

"  Gently ;  gently !  my  king,"  groaned  Diomed ;  "  we 
already  begin  to " 

"  Treason !  "  interrupted  Sallust ;  "  no  stern  Brutus 
here ! — no  interference  with  royalty !  " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        339 


"  Love  a  toper !  Did  not  Ariadne  dote  upon  Bac- 
chus?" 

The  feast  proceeded  ;  the  guests  grew  more  talkative 
and  noisy ;  the  dessert  or  last  course  was  already  on  the 
table ;  and  the  slaves  bore  round  water  with  myrrh  and 
hyssop  for  the  finishing  lavation.  At  the  same  time, 
a  small  circular  table  that  had  been  placed  in  the  space 
opposite  the  guests  suddenly,  and  as  by  magic,  seemed 
to  open  in  the  centre,  and  cast  up  a  fragrant  shower, 
sprinkling  the  table  and  the  guests ;  while  as  it  ceased 
the  awning  above  them  was  drawn  aside,  and  the 
guests  perceived  that  a  rope  had  been  stretched  across 
the  ceiling,  and  that  one  of  those  nimble  dancers  for 
which  Pompeii  was  so  celebrated,  and  whose  descend- 
ants add  so  charming  a  grace  to  the  festivities  of  Ast- 
ley's  or  Vauxhall,  was  now  treading  his  airy  measures 
right  over  their  heads. 

This  apparition,  removed  but  by  a  cord  from  one's 
pericranium,  and  indulging  the  most  vehement  leaps, 
apparently  with  the  intention  of  alighting  upon  that 
cerebral  region,  would  probably  be  regarded  with  some 
terror  by  a  party  in  Mayfair ;  but  our  Pompeian  rev- 
ellers seemed  to  behold  the  spectacle  with  delighted 
curiosity,  and  applauded  in  proportion  as  the  dancer 
appeared  with  the  most  difficulty  to  miss  falling  upon 
the  head  of  whatever  guest  he  particularly  selected  to 
dance  above.  He  paid  the  senator,  indeed,  the  peculiar 
compliment  of  literally  falling  from  the  rope,  and  catch- 
ing it  again  with  his  hand,  just  as  the  whole  party  im- 
agined the  skull  of  the  Roman  was  as  much  fractured 
as  ever  that  of  the  poet  whom  the  eagle  took  for  a  tor- 
toise. At  length,  to  the  great  relief  of  at  least  lone, 
who  had  not  much  accustomed  herself  to  this  enter- 


340        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

tainment,  the  dancer  suddenly  paused,  as  a  strain  of 
music  was  heard  from  without.  He  danced  again  still 
more  wildly ;  the  air  changed,  the  dancer  paused  again  ; 
no,  it  could  not  dissolve  the  charm  which  was  supposed 
to  possess  him !  He  represented  one  who  by  a  strange 
disorder  is  compelled  to  dance,  and  whom  only  a  cer- 
tain air  of  music  can  cure.1  At  length  the  musician 
seemed  to  hit  on  the  right  tune ;  the  dancer  gave  one 
leap,  swung  himself  down  from  the  rope,  alighted  on 
the  floor  and  vanished. 

One  art  now  yielded  to  another;  and  the  musicians 
who  were  stationed  without  on  the  terrace  struck  up  a 
soft  and  mellow  air,  to  which  were  sung  the  following 
words,  made  almost  indistinct,  by  the  barrier  between, 
and  the  exceeding  lowness  of  the  minstrelsy : — 

FESTIVE   MUSIC    SHOULD    BE    LOW 

i. 
"  Hark !  through  these  flowers  our  music  sends  its  greeting 

To  your  loved  halls,  where  Psilas2  shuns  the  day; 
When  the  young  god  his  Cretan  nymph  was  meeting 
He  taught  Pan's  rustic  pipe  this  gliding  lay : 
Soft  as  the  dews  of  wine 

Shed  in  this  banquet  hour, 
The  rich  libation  of  Sound's  stream  divine, 
O  reverent  harp,  to  Aphrodite  pour! 

n. 
"  Wild  rings  the  trump  o'er  ranks  to  glory  marching ; 

Music's  sublimer  bursts  for  war  are  meet; 
But  sweet  lips  murmuring  under  wreaths  o'erarching, 
Find  the  low  whispers  like  their  own  most  sweet. 
Steal,  my  lull'd  music,  steal 

Like  woman's  half-heard  tone, 
So  that  whoe'er  shall  hear,  shall  think  to  feel 
In  thee  the  voice  of  lips  that  love  his  own." 

1  A  dance  still  retained  in  Campania.  *  Bacchus. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        341 

At  the  end  of  that  song  lone's  cheek  blushed  more 
deeply  than  before,  and  Glaucus  had  contrived,  under 
cover  of  the  table,  to  steal  her  hand. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  song,"  said  Fulvius,  patronisingly. 

"  Ah !  if  you  would  oblige  us !  "  murmured  the  wife 
of  Pansa. 

"  Do  you  wish  Fulvius  to  sing  ?  "  asked  the  king  of 
the  feast,  who  had  just  called  on  the  assembly  to  drink 
the  health  of  the  Roman  senator,  a  cup  to  each  letter  of 
his  name. 

"  Can  you  ask  ?  "  said  the  matron,  with  a  complimen- 
tary glance  at  the  poet. 

Sallust  snapped  his  fingers,  and  whispering  the  slave 
who  came  to  learn  his  orders,  the  latter  disappeared, 
and  returned  in  few  moments  with  a  small  harp  in  one 
hand,  and  a  branch  of  myrtle  in  the  other. 

The  slave  approached  the  poet,  and  with  a  low  rev- 
erence presented  to  him  the  harp. 

"  Alas !  I  cannot  play,"  said  the  poet. 

"  Then  you  must  sing  to  the  myrtle.  It  is  a  Greek 
fashion :  Diomed  loves  the  Greeks — I  love  the  Greeks 
• — you  love  the  Greeks — we  all  love  the  Greeks,  and  be- 
tween you  and  me  this  is  not  the  only  thing  we  have 
stolen  from  them.  However,  I  introduce  this  custom — 
I,  the  king:  sing,  subject,  sing!  " 

The  poet,  with  a  bashful  smile,  took  the  myrtle  in 
his  hands,  and  after  a  short  prelude,  sang  as  follows,  in 
a  pleasant  and  well-tuned  voice : — 

THE  CORONATION  OF  THE  LOVES1 
i. 

"  The  merry  Loves  one  holiday 
Were  all  at  gambols  madly; 

1  Suggested  by  two  Pompeian  pictures  in  the  Museum  at 
Naples,  which  represented  a  dove  and  a  helmet  enthroned  by 
Cupids. 


342        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

But  Loves  too  long  can  seldom  play 

Without  behaving  sadly. 
They  laugh'd,  they  toy'd,  they  romp'd  about, 
And  then  for  change  they  all  fell  out. 
Fie,  fie !  how  can  they  quarrel  so  ? 
My  Lesbia — ah,  for  shame,  love ! 
Methinks  'tis  scarce  an  hour  ago 
When  we  did  just  the  same,  love. 

ii. 

"  The  Loves,  'tis  thought,  were  free  till  then, 

They  had  no  king  or  laws,  dear ; 
But  gods,  like  men,  should  subject  be, 

Say  all  the  ancient  saws,  dear. 
And  so  our  crew  resolved,  for  quiet, 
To  choose  a  king  to  curb  their  riot. 
A  kiss :  ah !  what  a  grievous  thing 

For  both,  methinks,  'twould  be,  child, 
If  I  should  take  some  prudish  king, 
And  cease  to  be  so  free,  child! 

in. 

"  Among  their  toys  a  casque  they  found, 

It  was  the  helm  of  Ares; 
With  horrent  plumes  the  crest  was  crown'd, 

It  frightened  all  the  Lares. 
So  fine  a  king  was  never  known — 
They  placed  the  helmet  on  the  throne. 

My  girl,  since  Valour  wins  the  world, 

They  chose  a  mighty  master; 
But  thy  sweet  flag  of  smiles  unfurled 
Would  win  the  world  much  faster! 

IV. 

M  The  Casque  soon  found  the  loves  too  wild 

A  troop  for  him  to  school  them ; 
For  warriors  know  how  one  such  child 

Has  aye  contrived  to  fool  them. 
They  plagued  him  so,  that  in  despair 
He  took  a  wife  the  plague  to  share. 

If  kings  themselves  thus  find  the  strife 
Of  earth,  unshared,  severe,  girl ; 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        343 

Why  just  to  halve  the  ills  of  life, 
Come,  take  your  partner  here,  girl. 

v. 

"  Within  that  room  the  Bird  of  Love 
The  whole  affair  had  eyed  then ; 
The  monarch  hail'd  the  royal  dove, 
And  placed  her  by  his  side  then : 
What  mirth  amidst  the  Loves  was  seen ! 
'  Long  live,'  they  cried,  '  our  King  and  Queen.' 
Ah !  Lesbia,  would  that  thrones  were  mine, 

And  crowns  to  deck  that  brow,  love ! 
And  yet  I  know  that  heart  of  thine 
For  me  is  throne  enow,  love ! 

VI. 

"  The  urchins  hoped  to  tease  the  mate 

As  they  had  teased  the  hero ; 
But  when  the  Dove  in  judgment  sate 

They  found  her  worse  than  Nero ! 
Each  look  a  frown,  each  word  a  law; 
The  little  subjects  shook  with  awe. 
In  thee  I  find  the  same  deceit; — 

Too  late,  alas !  a  learner ! 
For  where  a  mien  more  gently  sweet 
And  where  a  tyrant  sterner?" 

This  song,  which  greatly  suited  the  gay  and  lively 
fancy  of  the  Pompeians,  was  received  with  consid- 
erable applause,  and  the  widow  insisted  on  crowning 
her  namesake  with  the  very  branch  of  myrtle  to  which 
he  had  sung.  It  was  easily  twisted  into  a  garland,  and 
the  immortal  Fulvius  was  crowned  amidst  the  clapping 
of  hands  and  shouts  of  lo  triumphe!  The  song  and 
the  harp  now  circulated  round  the  party,  a  new  myrtle 
branch  being  handed  about,  stopping  at  each  person 
who  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  sing.1 

1  According  to  Plutarch   (Sympos.  lib.  i.)  it  seems  that  the 
-branch  of  myrtle  or  laurel  was  not  carried  round  in  order,  but 
passed  from  the  first  person  on  one  couch  to  the  first  on  an- 
other, and  then  from  the  second  on  the  one  to  the  second  on 
the  other,  and  so  on. 


344        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  sun  began  now  to  decline,  though  the  revellers, 
who  had  worn  away  several  hours,  perceived  it  not  in 
their  darkened  chamber;  and  the  senator,  who  was 
tired,  and  the  warrior,  who  had  to  return  to  Hercu- 
laneum,  rising  to  depart,  gave  the  signal  for  the  gen- 
eral dispersion.  "  Tarry  yet  a  moment,  my  friends," 
said  Diomed :  "  if  you  will  go  so  soon,  you  must  at  least 
take  a  share  in  our  concluding  game." 

So  saying,  he  motioned  to  one  of  the  ministri,  and 
whispering  him,  the  slave  went  out,  and  presently  re- 
turned with  a  small  bowl  containing  various  tablets 
carefully  sealed,  and,  apparently,  exactly  similar.  Each 
guest  was  to  purchase  one  of  these  at  the  nominal  price 
of  the  lowest  piece  of  silver ;  and  the  sport  of  this  lot- 
tery (which  was  the  favourite  diversion  of  Augustus, 
who  introduced  it)  consisted  in  the  inequality,  and 
sometimes  the  incongruity  of  the  prizes,  the  nature  and 
amount  of  which  were  specified  within  the  tablets.  For 
instance,  the  poet,  with  a  wry  face,  drew  one  of  his 
own  poems  (no  physician  ever  less  willingly  swallowed 
his  own  draught) ;  the  warrior  drew  a  case  of  bodkins, 
which  gave  rise  to  certain  novel  witticisms  relative  to 
Hercules  and  the  distaff;  the  widow  Fulvia  obtained 
a  large  drinking-cup ;  Julia,  a  gentleman's  buckle ;  and 
Lepidus,  a  lady's  patch-box.  The  most  appropriate  lot 
was  drawn  by  the  gambler  Clodius,  who  reddened  with 
anger  on  being  presented  to  a  set  of  cogged  dice.1  A 
certain  damp  was  thrown  upon  the  gaiety  which  these 
various  lots  created  by  an  accident  that  was  consid- 
ered ominous;  Glaucus  drew  the  most  valuable  of  all 
the  prizes,  a  small  marble  statue  of  Fortune,  of  Grecian 

1  Several  cogged  dice  were  found  in  Pompeii.  Some  of  the 
virtues  may  be  modern,  but  it  is  quite  clear  that  all  the  vices 
are  ancient. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        345 

workmanship :  on  handing  it  to  him  the  slave  suffered 
it  to  drop,  and  it  broke  in  pieces. 

A  shiver  went  round  the  assembly,  and  each  voice 
cried  spontaneously  on  the  gods  to  avert  the  omen. 

Glaucus,  alone,  though  perhaps  as  superstitious  as 
the  rest,  affected  to  be  unmoved. 

"  Sweet  Neapolitan,"  whispered  he  tenderly  to  lone, 
who  had  turned  pale  as  the  broken  marble  itself,  "  I 
accept  the  omen.  It  signifies  that  in  obtaining  thee, 
Fortune  can  give  no  more, — she  breaks  her  image  when 
she  blesses  me  with  thine." 

In  order  to  divert  the  impression  which  this  incident 
had  occasioned  in  an  assembly  which,  considering  the 
civilisation  of  the  guests,  would  seem  miraculously 
superstitious,  if  at  the  present  day  in  a  country  party 
we  did  not  often  see  a  lady  grow  hypochondriacal  on 
leaving  a  room  last  of  thirteen,  Sallust  now  crowning 
his  cup  with  flowers,  gave  the  health  of  their  host. 
This  was  followed  by  a  similar  compliment  to  the  em- 
peror ;  and  then,  with  a  parting  cup  to  Mercury  to  send 
them  pleasant  slumbers,  they  concluded  the  entertain- 
ment by  a  last  libation,  and  broke  up  the  party. 

Carriages  and  litters  were  little  used  in  Pompeii, 
partly  owing  to  the  extreme  narrowness  of  the  streets, 
partly  to  the  convenient  smallness  of  the  city.  Most 
of  the  guests  replacing  their  sandals,  which  they  had 
put  off  in  the  banquet-room,  and  induing  their  cloaks, 
left  the  house  on  foot  attended  by  their  slaves. 

Meanwhile,  having  seen  lone  depart,  Glaucus  turn- 
ing to  the  staircase  which  led  down  to  the  rooms  of 
Julia,  was  conducted  by  a  slave  to  an  apartment  in 
which  he  found  the  merchant's  daughter  already  seated. 

"  Glaucus !  "  said  she,  looking  down,  "  I  see  that  you 
really  love  lone — she  is  indeed  beautiful." 


346        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Julia  is  charming  enough  to  be  generous,"  replied 
the  Greek.  "  Yes,  I  love  lone ;  amidst  all  the  youth 
who  court  you,  may  you  have  one  worshipper  as  sin- 
cere." 

"  I  pray  the  gods  to  grant  it !  See,  Glaucus,  these 
pearls  are  the  present  I  destine  to  your  bride :  may  Juno 
give  her  health  to  wear  them !  " 

So  saying,  she  placed  a  case  in  his  hand,  containing 
a  row  of  pearls  of  some  size  and  price.  It  was  so  much 
the  custom  for  persons  about  to  be  married  to  receive 
these  gifts,  that  Glaucus  could  have  little  scruple  in  ac- 
cepting the  necklace,  though  the  gallant  and  proud 
Athenian  inly  resolved  to  requite  the  gift  by  one  of 
thrice  its  value.  Julia  then  stopping  short  his  thanks, 
poured  forth  some  wine  into  a  small  bowl. 

"  You  have  drunk  many  toasts  with  my  father,"  said 
she,  smiling, — "  one  now  with  me.  Health  and  fortune 
to  your  bride !  " 

She  touched  the  cup  with  her  lips  and  then  presented 
it  to  Glaucus.  The  customary  etiquette  required  that 
Glaucus  should  drain  the  whole  contents;  he  accord- 
ingly did  so.  Julia,  unknowing  the  deceit  which  Nydia 
had  practised  upon  her,  watched  him  with  sparkling 
eyes;  although  the  witch  had  told  her  that  the  effect 
might  not  be  immediate,  she  yet  sanguinely  trusted  to 
an  expeditious  operation  in  favour  of  her  charms.  She 
was  disappointed  when  she  found  Glaucus  coldly  re- 
place the  cup,  and  converse  with  her  in  the  same  un- 
moved but  gentle  tone  as  before.  And  though  she 
detained  him  as  long  as  she  decorously  could  do,  no 
change  took  place  in  his  manner. 

"  But  to-morrow,"  thought  she,  exultingly  recover- 
ing her  disappointment, — "  to-morrow,  alas  for  Glau- 
cus!" 

Alas  for  him,  indeed ! 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        347 
CHAPTER   IV 

THE  STORY  HALTS  FOR  A  MOMENT  AT  AN   EPISODE. 

Restless  and  anxious,  Apsecides  consumed  the  day  f 
in  wandering  through  the  most  sequestered  walks  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  city.  The  sun  was  slowly  setting  as 
he  paused  beside  a  lonely  part  of  the  Sarnus,  ere  yet  it 
wound  amidst  the  evidences  of  luxury  and  power. 
Only  through  openings  in  the  woods  and  vines  were 
caught  glimpses  of  the  white  and  gleaming  city,  in 
which  was  heard  in  the  distance  no  din,  no  sound,  nor 
"  busiest  hum  of  men."  Amidst  the  green  banks  crept 
the  lizard  and  the  grasshopper,  and  here  and  there  in 
the  brake  some  solitary  bird  burst  into  sudden  song,  as 
suddenly  stilled.  There  was  deep  calm  around,  but  not 
the  calm  of  night ;  the  air  still  breathed  of  the  freshness 
and  life  of  day ;  the  grass  still  moved  to  the  stir  of  the 
insect  horde;  and  on  the  opposite  bank  the  graceful 
and  white  capella  passed  browsing  through  the  herb- 
age, and  paused  at  the  wave  to  drink. 

As  Apaecides  stood  musingly  gazing  upon  the  wa- 
ters, he  heard  beside  him  the  low  bark  of  a  dog. 

"  Be  still,  poor  friend,"  said  a  voice  at  hand ;  "  the 
stranger's  step  harms  not  thy  master."  The  convert 
recognised  the  voice,  and,  turning,  he  beheld  the  old 
mysterious  man  whom  he  had  seen  in  the  congregation 
of  the  Nazarenes. 

The  old  man  was  sitting  upon  a  fragment  of  stone 
covered  with  ancient  mosses ;  beside  him  were  his  staff 
and  scrip ;  at  his  feet  lay  a  small  shaggy  dog,  the  com- 
panion in  how  many  a  pilgrimage  perilous  and  strange. 

The  face  of  the  old  man  was  as  balm  to  the  excited 


348        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

spirit  of  the  neophyte :  he  approached,  and  craving  his 
blessing,  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  Thou  art  provided  as  for  a  journey,  father,"  said 
he :  "  wilt  thou  leave  us  yet  ?  " 

"  My  son,"  replied  the  old  man,  "  the  days  in  store 
for  me  on  earth  are  few  and  scanty ;  I  employ  them  as 
becomes  me,  travelling  from  place  to  place,  comforting 
those  whom  God  has  gathered  together  in  His  name, 
and  proclaiming  the  glory  of  His  Son,  as  testified  to 
His  servant." 

"  Thou  hast  looked,  they  tell  me,  on  the  face  of 
Christ?" 

"  And  the  face  revived  me  from  the  dead.  Know, 
young  proselyte  to  the  true  faith,  that  I  am  he  of  whom 
thou  readest  in  the  scroll  of  the  Apostle.  In  the  far 
Judea,  and  in  the  city  of  Nain,  there  dwelt  a  widow, 
humble  of  spirit  and  sad  of  heart ;  for  of  all  the  ties  of 
life  one  son  alone  was  spared  to  her.  And  she  loved 
him  with  a  melancholy  love,  for  he  was  the  likeness  of 
the  lost.  And  the  son  died.  The  reed  on  which  she 
leaned  was  broken,  the  oil  was  dried  up  in  the  widow's 
cruse.  They  bore  the  dead  upon  his  bier;  and  near 
the  gate  of  the  city,  where  the  crowd  was  gathered, 
there  came  a  silence  over  the  sounds  of  woe,  for  the 
Son  of  God  was  passing  by.  The  mother,  who  fol- 
lowed the  bier,  wept, — not  noisily,  but  all  who  looked 
upon  her  saw  that  her  heart  was  crushed.  And  the 
Lord  pitied  her,  and  He  touched  the  bier,  and  said,  '  I 
SAY  UNTO  THEE,  ARISE/  And  the  dead  man  woke  and 
looked  upon  the  face  of  the  Lord.  Oh,  that  calm  and 
solemn  brow,  that  unutterable  smile,  that  careworn 
and  sorrowful  face,  lighted  up  with  a  God's  benignity 
— it  chased  away  the  shadows  of  the  grave !  I  rose,  I 
spoke,  I  was  living,  and  in  my  mother's  arms — yes,  / 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        349 

am  the  dead  revived !  The  people  shouted,  the  funeral 
horns  rung  forth  merrily :  there  was  a  cry,  '  God  has 
visited  His  people ! '  I  heard  them  not — I  felt — I  saw 
— nothing — but  the  face  of  the  Redeemer !  " 

The  old  man  paused,  deeply  moved ;  and  the  youth 
felt  his  blood  creep,  and  his  hair  stir.  He  was  in  the 
presence  of  one  who  had  known  the  Mystery  of  Death ! 

"  Till  that  time,"  renewed  the  widow's  son,  "  I  had 
been  as  other  men :  thoughtless,  not  abandoned ;  taking 
no  heed,  but  of  the  things  of  love  and  life ;  nay,  I  had 
inclined  to  the  gloomy  faith  of  the  earthly  Sadducee! 
But,  raised  from  the  dead,  from  awful  and  desert 
dreams  that  these  lips  never  dare  reveal — recalled  upon 
earth,  to  testify  the  powers  of  Heaven — once  more 
mortal,  the  witness  of  immortality,  I  drew  a  new  being 
from  the  grave.  O  faded — O  lost  Jerusalem ! — Him 
from  whom  came  my  life,  I  beheld  adjudged  to  the 
agonised  and  parching  death! — Far  in  the  mighty 
crowd,  I  saw  the  light  rest  and  glimmer  over  the  cross ; 
I  heard  the  hooting  mob,  I  cried  aloud,  I  raved,  I 
threatened — none  heeded  me — I  was  lost  in  the  whirl 
and  the  roar  of  thousands  !  But  even  then,  in  my  agony 
and  His  own,  methought  the  glazing  eye  of  the  Son  of 
Man  sought  me  out — His  lip  smiled,  as  when  it  con- 
quered death — it  hushed  me,  and  I  became  calm.  He 
who  had  defied  the  grave  for  another, — what  was  the 
grave  to  Him  ?  The  sun  shone  aslant  the  pale  and  pow- 
erful features,  and  then  died  away !  Darkness  fell 
over  the  earth ;  how  long  it  endured  I  know  not.  A 
loud  cry  came  through  the  gloom — a  sharp  and  bitter 
cry ! — and  all  was  silent. 

"But  who  shall  tell  the  terrors  of  the  night?  I 
walked  along  the  city — the  earth  reeled  to  and  fro,  and 
the  houses  trembled  to  their  base — the  living  had  de- 


350        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

serted  the  streets  but  not  the  dead:  through  the  gloom 
I  saw  them  glide — the  dim  and  ghastly  shapes,  in  the 
cerements  of  the  grave, — with  horror,  and  woe,  and 
warning  on  their  unmoving  lips  and  lightless  eyes ! — 
they  swept  by  me,  as  I  passed — they  glared  upon  me — 
I  had  been  their  brother;  and  they  bowed  their  heads 
in  recognition ;  they  had  risen  to  tell  the  living  that  the 
dead  can  rise !  " 

Again  the  old  man  paused,  and,  when  he  resumed,  it 
was  in  a  calmer  tone. 

"  From  that  night  I  resigned  all  earthly  thought  but 
that  of  serving  HIM.  A  preacher  and  a  pilgrim,  I  have 
traversed  the  remotest  corners  of  the  earth,  proclaim- 
ing His  Divinity,  and  bringing  new  converts  to  His 
fold.  I  come  as  the  wind,  and  as  the  wind  depart; 
sowing,  as  the  wind  sows,  the  seeds  that  enrich  the 
world. 

"  Son,  on  earth  we  shall  meet  no  more.  Forget  not 
this  hour — what  are  the  pleasures  and  the  pomps  of 
life  ?  As  the  lamp  shines,  so  life  glitters  for  an  hour ; 
but  the  soul's  light  is  the  star  that  burns  for  ever  in  the 
heart  of  illimitable  space." 

It  was  then  that  their  conversation  fell  upon  the  gen- 
eral and  sublime  doctrines  of  immortality;  it  soothed 
and  elevated  the  young  mind  of  the  convert,  which  yet 
clung  to  many  of  the  damps  and  shadows  of  that  cell 
of  faith  which  he  had  so  lately  left — it  was  the  air  of 
heaven  breathing  on  the  prisoner  released  at  last. 
There  was  a  strong  and  marked  distinction  between 
the  Christianity  of  the  old  man  and  that  of  Olinthus; 
that  of  the  first  was  more  soft,  more  gentle,  more  di- 
vine. The  hard  heroism  of  Olinthus  had  something  in 
it  fierce  and  intolerant — it  was  necessary  to  the  part 
he  was  destined  to  play — it  had  in  it  more  of  the  cour- 


351 

age  of  the  martyr  than  the  charity  of  the  saint.  It 
aroused,  it  excited,  it  nerved,  rather  than  subdued  and 
softened.  But  the  whole  heart  of  that  divine  old  man 
was  bathed  in  love ;  the  smile  of  the  Deity  had  burned 
away  from  it  the  leaven  of  earthlier  and  coarser  pas- 
sions, and  left  to  the  energy  of  the  hero  all  the  meek- 
ness of  the  child. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  rising  at  length,  as  the  sun's 
last  ray  died  in  the  west ;  "  now,  in  the  cool  of  twilight, 
I  pursue  my  way  towards  the  Imperial  Rome.  There 
yet  dwell  some  holy  men  who  like  me  have  beheld  the 
face  of  Christ ;  and  them  would  I  see  before  I  die." 

"  But  the  night  is  chill  for  thine  age,  my  father,  and 
the  way  is  long,  and  the  robber  haunts  it ;  rest  thee  till 
to-morrow." 

"  Kind  son,  what  is  there  in  this  scrip  to  tempt  the 
robber?  And  the  Night  and  the  Solitude! — these 
make  the  ladder  round  which  angels  cluster,  and  be- 
neath which  my  spirit  can  dream  of  God.  Oh!  none 
can  know  what  the  pilgrim  feels  as  he  walks  on  his 
holy  course ;  nursing  no  fear,  and  dreading  no  danger 
— for  God  is  with  him !  He  hears  the  winds  murmur 
glad  tidings;  the  woods  sleep  in  the  shadow  of  Al- 
mighty wings ; — the  stars  are  the  Scriptures  of  Heaven, 
the  tokens  of  love,  and  the  witnesses  of  immortality. 
Night  is  the  pilgrim's  day."  With  these  words  the  old 
man  pressed  Apaecides  to  his  breast,  and  taking  up  his 
staff  and  scrip,  the  dog  bounded  cheerily  before  him, 
and  with  slow  steps  and  downcast  eyes  he  went  his  way. 

The  convert  stood  watching  his  bended  form,  till  the 
trees  shut  the  last  glimpse  from  his  view ;  and  then,  as 
the  stars  broke  forth,  he  woke  from  the  musings  with  a 
start,  reminded  of  his  appointment  with  Olinthus. 


352        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 
CHAPTER   V 

THE    PHILTRE ITS    EFFECT. 

When  Glaucus  arrived  at  his  own  home,  he  found 
Nydia  seated  under  the  portico  of  his  garden.  In  fact, 
she  had  sought  his  house  in  the  mere  chance  that  he 
might  return  at  an  early  hour:  anxious,  fearful,  an- 
ticipative,  she  resolved  upon  seizing  the  earliest  oppor- 
tunity of  availing  herself  of  the  love-charm,  while  at 
the  same  time  she  half  hoped  the  opportunity  might  be 
deferred. 

It  was  then,  in  that  fearful  burning  mood,  her  heart 
beating,  her  cheek  flushing,  that  Nydia  awaited  the  pos- 
sibility of  Glaucus's  return  before  the  night.  He 
crossed  the  portico  just  as  the  first  stars  began  to  rise, 
and  the  heaven  above  had  assumed  its  most  purple 
robe. 

"  Ho,  my  child,  wait  you  for  me?  " 

"  Nay,  I  have  been  tending  the  flowers,  and  did  but 
linger  a  little  while  to  rest  myself." 

"  It  has  been  warm,"  said  Glaucus,  placing  himself 
also  on  one  of  the  seats  beneath  the  colonnade. 

"  Very." 

"  Wilt  thou  summon  Davus  ?  The  wine  I  have 
drunk  heats  me,  and  I  long  for  some  cooling  drink." 

Here  at  once,  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  the  very 
opportunity  that  Nydia  awaited  presented  itself;  of 
himself,  at  his  own  free  choice,  he  afforded  to  her  that 
occasion.  She  breathed  quick — "  I  will  prepare  for 
you  myself,"  said  she,  "  the  summer  draught  that  lone 
loves — of  honey  and  weak  wine  cooled  in  snow." 

"  Thanks,"  said  the  unconscious  Glaucus.  "  If  lone 
love  it,  enough ;  it  would  be  grateful  were  it  poison." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        353 

Nydia  frowned,  and  then  smiled;  she  withdrew  for 
a  few  moments,  and  returned  with  the  cup  containing 
the  beverage.  Glaucus  took  it  from  her  hand.  What 
would  not  Nydia  have  given  then  for  one  hour's  pre- 
rogative of  sight,  to  have  watched  her  hopes  ripening 
to  effect ; — to  have  seen  the  first  dawn  of  the  imagined 
love; — to  have  worshipped  with  more  than  Persian 
adoration  the  rising  of  that  sun  which  her  credulous 
soul  believed  was  to  break  upon  her  dreary  night !  Far 
different,  as  she  stood  then  and  there,  were  the 
thoughts,  the  emotions  of  the  blind  girl,  from  those  of 
the  vain  Pompeian  under  a  similar  suspense.  In  the 
last,  what  poor  and  frivolous  passions  had  made  up 
the  daring  whole!  What  petty  pique,  what  small  re- 
venge, what  expectation  of  a  paltry  triumph,  had 
swelled  the  attributes  of  that  sentiment  she  dignified 
with  the  name  of  love !  But  in  the  wild  heart  of  the 
Thessalian  all  was  pure,  uncontrolled,  unmodified  pas- 
sion ; — erring,  unwomanly,  frenzied,  but  debased  by 
no  elements  of  a  more  sordid  feeling.  Filled  with  love 
as  with  life  itself,  how  could  she  resist  the  occasion  of 
winning  love  in  return? 

She  leaned  for  support  against  the  wall,  and  her  face, 
before  so  flushed,  was  now  white  as  snow,  and  with 
her  delicate  hands  clasped  convulsively  together,  her 
lips  apart,  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  she  waited  the  next 
words  Glaucus  should  utter. 

Glaucus  had  raised  the  cup  to  his  lips,  he  had  already 
drained  about  a  fourth  of  its  contents,  when  his  eye 
suddenly  glancing  upon  the  face  of  Nydia,  he  was  so 
forcibly  struck  by  its  alteration,  by  its  intense,  and  pain- 
ful, and  strange  expression,  that  he  paused  abruptly, 
and  still  holding  the  cup  near  his  lips,  exclaimed — 

"  Why,  Nydia !  Nydia !  I  say,  art  thou  ill  or  in  pain  ? 
23 


354        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Nay,  thy  face  speaks  for  thee.  What  ails  my  poor 
child  ?  "  As  he  spoke,  he  put  down  the  cup  and  rose 
from  his  seat  to  approach  her,  when  a  sudden  pang 
shot  coldly  to  his  heart,  and  was  followed  by  a  wild, 
confused,  dizzy  sensation  at  the  brain.  The  floor 
seemed  to  glide  from  under  him — his  feet  seemed  to 
move  on  air — a  mighty  and  unearthly  gladness  rushed 
upon  his  spirit — he  felt  too  buoyant  for  the  earth — he 
longed  for  wings,  nay,  it  seemed  in  the  buoyancy  of 
his  new  existence,  as  if  he  possessed  them.  He  burst 
involuntarily  into  a  loud  and  thrilling  laugh.  He 
clapped  his  hands — he  bounded  aloft — he  was  as  a 
Pythoness  inspired;  suddenly  as  it  came  this  preter- 
natural transport  passed,  though  only  partially,  away. 
He  now  felt  his  blood  rushing  loudly  and  rapidly 
through  his  veins ;  it  seemed  to  swell,  to  exult,  to  leap 
along,  as  a  stream  that  has  burst  its  bounds,  and  hur- 
ries to  the  ocean.  It  throbbed  in  his  ear  with  a  mighty 
sound,  he  felt  it  mount  to  his  brow,  he  felt  the  veins  in 
the  temples  stretch  and  swell  as  if  they  could  no  longer 
contain  the  violent  and  increasing  tide — then  a  kind  of 
darkness  fell  over  his  eyes — darkness,  but  not  entire ; 
for  through  the  djm  shade  he  saw  the  opposite  walls 
glow  out,  and  the  figures  painted  thereon  seemed, 
ghost-like,  to  creep  and  glide.  What  was  most  strange, 
he  did  not  feel  himself  ill — he  did  not  sink  or  quail  be- 
neath the  dread  frenzy  that  was  gathering  over  him. 
The  novelty  of  the  feelings  seemed  bright  and  vivid — 
he  felt  as  if  a  younger  health  had  been  infused  into  his 
frame.  He  was  gliding  on  to  madness — and  he  knew 
it  not ! 

Nydia  had  not  answered  his  first  question — she  had 
not  been  able  to  reply — his  wild  and  fearful  laugh  had 
roused  her  from  her  passionate  suspense:  she  could 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         35$ 

not  see  his  fierce  gestures — she  could  not  mark  his  reel- 
ing and  unsteady  step  as  he  paced  unconsciously  to  and 
fro;  but  she  heard  the  words,  broken,  incoherent,  in- 
sane, that  gushed  from  his  lips.  She  became  terrified 
and  appalled — she  hastened  to  him,  feeling  with  her 
arms  until  she  touched  his  knees,  and  then  falling  on 
the  ground  she  embraced  them,  weeping  with  terror 
and  excitement. 

"  Oh,  speak  to  me !  speak !  you  do  not  hate  me  ? — 
speak,  speak!  " 

"  By  the  bright  goddess,  a  beautiful  land  this  Cy- 
prus !  Ho !  how  they  fill  us  with  wine  instead  of  blood ! 
Now  they  open  the  veins  of  the  Faun  yonder  to  show 
how  the  tide  within  bubbles  and  sparkles.  Come 
hither,  jolly  old  god!  thou  ridest  on  a  goat,  eh?- — what 
long  silky  hair  he  has !  He  is  worth  all  the  courses  of 
Parthia.  But  a  word  with  thee — this  wine  of  thine  is 
too  strong  for  us  mortals.  Oh !  beautiful !  the  boughs 
are  at  rest !  the  green  waves  of  the  forest  have  caught 
the  Zephyr  and  drowned  him!  Not  a  breath  stirs  the 
leaves — and  I  view  the  Dreams  sleeping  with  folded 
wings  upon  the  motionless  elm ;  and  I  look  beyond,  and 
I  see  a  blue  stream  sparkle  in  the  silent  noon ! — a  foun- 
tain— a  fountain  springing  aloft !  Ah !  my  fount,  thou 
wilt  not  put  out  the  rays  of  my  Grecian  sun,  though 
thou  triest  ever  so  hard  with  thy  nimble  and  silver 
arms.  And  now,  what  form  steals  yonder  through  the 
boughs?  she  glides  like  a  moonbeam — she  has  a  gar- 
land of  oak-leaves  on  her  head.  In  her  hand  is  a  vase 
upturned,  from  which  she  pours  pink  and  tiny  shells, 
and  sparkling  water.  Oh !  look  on  yon  face !  Man 
never  before  saw  its  like.  See !  we  are  alone ;  only  I  and 
she  in  the  wide  forest.  There  is  no  smile  upon  her  lips 
— she  moves,  grave  and  sweetly  sad.  Ha!  fly,  it  is  a 


356        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

nymph !  it  is  one  of  the  wild  Napasae ! 1  Whoever  sees 
her  becomes  mad — fly !  see,  she  discovers  me !  " 

"  Oh !  Glaucus !  Glaucus !  do  you  not  know  me  ? 
Rave  not  so  wildly,  or  thou  wilt  kill  me  with  a  word !  " 

A  new  change  seemed  now  to  operate  upon  the  jar- 
ring and  disordered  mind  of  the  unfortunate  Athenian. 
He  put  his  hands  upon  Nydia's  silken  hair;  he 
smoothed  the  locks — he  looked  wistfully  upon  her  face, 
and  then,  as  in  the  broken  chain  of  thought  one  or  two 
links  were  yet  unsevered,  it  seemed  that  her  counte- 
nance brought  it  associations  of  lone ;  and  with  that  re- 
membrance his  madness  became  yet  more  powerful, 
and  it  was  swayed  and  tinged  by  passion,  as  he  burst 
forth,— 

"  I  swear  by  Venus,  by  Diana,  and  by  Juno,  that 
though  I  have  now  the  world  on  my  shoulders,  as  my 
countryman  Hercules  (ah,  dull  Rome!  whoever  was 
truly  great  was  of  Greece ;  why,  you  would  be  godless 
if  it  were  not  for  us !) — I  say,  as  my  countryman  Her- 
cules had  before  me,  I  would  let  it  fall  into  chaos  for 
one  smile  from  lone.  Ah,  Beautiful, — Adored,"  he 
added,  in  a  voice  inexpressibly  fond  and  plaintive, 
"  thou  lovest  me  not.  Thou  art  unkind  to  me.  The 
Egyptian  hath  belied  me  to  thee — thou  knowest  not 
what  hours  I  have  spent  beneath  thy  casement — thou 
knowest  not  how  I  have  outwatched  the  stars,  thinking 
thou,  my  sun,  wouldst  rise  at  last, — and  thou  lovest 
me  not,  thou  forsakest  me !  Oh !  do  not  leave  me  now ! 
I  feel  that  my  life  will  not  be  long ;  let  me  gaze  on  thee 
at  least  unto  the  last.  I  am  of  the  bright  land  of  thy 
fathers — I  have  trod  the  heights  of  Phyle — I  have 
gathered  the  hyacinth  and  rose  amidst  the  olive-groves 
of  Ilissus.  Thou  shouldst  not  desert  me,  for  thy 
1  Presiding  over  hills  and  woods. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        357 

fathers  were  brothers  to  my  own.  And  they  say  this 
land  is  lovely,  and  these  climes  serene,  but  I  will  bear 
thee  with  me — Ho !  dark  form,  why  risest  thou  like  a 
cloud  between  me  and  mine?  Death  sits  calmly  dread 
upon  thy  brow — on  thy  lip  is  the  smile  that  slays :  thy 
name  is  Orcus,  but  on  earth  men  call  thee  Arbaces. 
See,  I  know  thee!  fly,  dim  shadow,  thy  spells  avail 
not!" 

"  Glaucus !  Glaucus !  "  murmured  Nydia,  releasing 
her  hold  and  falling,  beneath  the  excitement  of  her  dis- 
may, remorse,  and  anguish,  insensible  on  the  floor. 

"  Who  calls  ?  "  said  he,  in  a  loud  voice.  "  lone,  it  is 
she !  they  have  borne  her  off — we  will  save  her — where 
is  my  stilus  ?  Ha,  I  have  it !  I  come,  lone,  to  thy  res- 
cue !  I  come !  I  come !  " 

So  saying,  the  Athenian  with  one  bound  passed  the 
portico,  he  traversed  the  house,  and  rushed  with  swift 
but  vacillating  steps,  and  muttering  audibly  to  himself, 
down  the  starlit  streets.  The  direful  potion  burnt  like 
fire  in  his  veins,  for  its  effect  was  made,  perhaps,  still 
more  sudden  from  the  wine  he  had  drunk  previously. 
Used  to  the  excesses  of  nocturnal  revellers,  the  citizens, 
with  smiles  and  winks,  gave  way  to  his  reeling  steps ; 
they  naturally  imagined  him  under  the  influence  of  the 
Bromian  god,  not  vainly  worshipped  at  Pompeii ;  but 
they  who  looked  twice  upon  his  face  started  in  a  name- 
less fear,  and  the  smile  withered  from  their  lips.  He 
passed  the  more  populous  streets;  and,  pursuing  me- 
chanically the  way  to  lone's  house,  he  traversed  a  more 
deserted  quarter,  and  entered  now  the  lonely  grove  of 
Cybele,  in  which  Apaecides  had  held  his  interview  with 
Olinthus. 


358        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 


CHAPTER  VI 

A     REUNION     OF    DIFFERENT    ACTORS. — STREAMS     THAT 
FLOWED   APPARENTLY    APART    RUSH    INTO   ONE   GULF. 

Impatient  to  learn  whether  the  fell  drug  had  yet  been 
administered  by  Julia  to  his  hated  rival,  and  with  what 
effect,  Arbaces  resolved,  as  the  evening  came  on,  to 
seek  her  house,  and  satisfy  his  suspense.  It  was  cus- 
tomary, as  I  have  before  said,  for  men  at  that  time  to 
carry  abroad  with  them  the  tablets  and  the  stilus  at- 
tached to  their  girdle;  and  with  the  girdle  they  were 
put  off  when  at  home.  In  fact,  under  the  appearance 
of  a  literary  instrument,  the  Romans  carried  about 
with  them  in  that  same  stilus  a  very  sharp  and  for- 
midable weapon.  It  was  with  his  stilus  l  that  Cassius 
stabbed  Caesar  in  the  senate-house.  Taking,  then, 
his  girdle  and  his  cloak,  Arbaces  left  his  house,  sup- 
porting his  steps,  which  were  still  somewhat  feeble 
(though  hope  and  vengeance  had  conspired  greatly 
with  his  own  medical  science,  which  was  profound,  to 
restore  his  natural  strength),  by  his  long  staff:  Ar- 
baces took  his  way  to  the  villa  of  Diomed. 

And  beautiful  is  the  moonlight  of  the  south!  In 
those  climes  the  night  so  quickly  glides  into  the  day, 
that  twilight  scarcely  makes  a  bridge  between  them. 
One  moment  of  darker  purple  in  the  sky — of  a  thou- 
sand rose-hues  in  the  water — of  shade  half  victorious 
over  light;  and  then  burst  forth  at  once  the  countless 
stars — the  moon  is  up — night  has  resumed  her  reign ! 

Brightly  then,  and  softly  bright,  fell  the  moonbeams 
over  the  antique  grove  consecrated  to  Cybele — the 

1  From  the  stilus  may  be  derived  the  stiletto  of  the  Italians. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        359 

stately  trees,  whose  date  went  beyond  tradition,  cast 
their  long  shadows  over  the  soil,  while  through  the 
openings  in  their  boughs  the  stars  shone,  still  and  fre- 
quent. The  whiteness  of  the  small  sacellum  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  grove,  amidst  the  dark  foliage,  had  in  it  some- 
thing abrupt  and  startling;  it  recalled  at  once  the 
purpose  to  which  the  wood  was  consecrated, — its  holi- 
ness and  solemnity. 

With  a  swift  and  stealthy  pace,  Calenus,  gliding  un- 
der the  shade  of  the  trees,  reached  the  chapel,  and 
gently  putting  back  the  boughs  that  completely  closed 
around  its  rear,  settled  himself  in  his  concealment;  a 
concealment  so  complete,  what  with  the  fane  in  front 
and  the  trees  behind,  that  no  unsuspicious  passenger 
could  possibly  have  detected  him.  Again,  all  was  ap- 
parently solitary  in  the  grove:  afar  off  you  heard 
faintly  the  voices  of  some  noisy  revellers,  or  the  music 
that  played  cheerily  to  the  groups  that  then,  as  now,  in 
those  climates,  during  the  nights  of  summer,  lingered 
in  the  streets,  and  enjoyed,  in  the  fresh  air  and  the 
liquid  moonlight,  a  milder  day. 

From  the  height  on  which  the  grove  was  placed,  you 
saw  through  the  intervals  of  the  trees  the  broad  and 
purple  sea,  rippling  in  the  distance,  the  white  villas  of 
Stabise  in  the  curving  shore,  and  the  dim  Lectiarian 
hills  mingling  with  the  delicious  sky.  Presently  the 
tall  figure  of  Arbaces,  on  his  way  to  the  house  of  Dio- 
med,  entered  the  extreme  end  of  the  grove ;  and  at  the 
same  instant  Apsecides,  also  bound  to  his  appointment 
with  Olinthus,  crossed  the  Egyptian's  path. 

"  Hem !  Apsecides,"  said  Arbaces,  recognising  the 
priest  at  a  glance ;  "  when  last  we  met,  you  were  my 
foe.  I  have  wished  since  then  to  see  you,  for  I  would 
have  you  still  my  pupil  and  my  friend." 


360        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Apaecides  started  at  the  voice  of  the  Egyptian :  and 
halting  abruptly,  gazed  upon  him  with  a  countenance 
full  of  contending,  bitter,  and  scornful  emotions. 

"  Villain  and  impostor !  "  said  he  at  length ;  "  thou 
hast  recovered  then  from  the  jaws  of  the  grave !  But 
think  not  again  to  weave  around  me  thy  guilty  meshes. 
— Retiarius,  I  am  armed  against  thee !  " 

"  Hush !  "  said  Arbaces,  in  a  very  low  voice — but 
his  pride,  which  in  that  descendant  of  kings  was  great, 
betrayed  the  wound  it  received  from  the  insulting 
epithets  of  the  priest  in  the  quiver  of  his  lip  and  the 
flush  of  his  tawny  brow.  "  Hush !  more  low !  thou 
mayest  be  overheard,  and  if  other  ears  than  mine  had 
drunk  those  sounds — why " 

"Dost  thou  threaten? — what  if  the  whole  city  had 
heard  me  ?  " 

"  The  manes  of  my  ancestors  would  not  have  suf- 
fered me  to  forgive  thee.  But,  hold,  and  hear  me. 
Thou  art  enraged  that  I  would  have  offered  violence  to 
thy  sister. — Nay,  peace,  peace,  but  one  instant,  I  pray 
thee.  Thou  art  right ;  it  was  the  frenzy  of  passion  and 
of  jealousy — I  have  repented  bitterly  of  my  madness. 
Forgive  me ;  I,  who  never  implored  pardon  of  living 
man,  beseech  thee  now  to  forgive  me.  Nay,  I  will  atone 
the  insult — I  ask  thy  sister  in  marriage  ; — start  not, — 
consider, — what  is  the  alliance  of  yon  holiday  Greek 
compared  to  mine?  Wealth  unbounded — birth  that  in 
its  far  antiquity  leaves  your  Greek  and  Roman  names 
the  things  of  yesterday — science — but  that  thou  know- 
est !  Give  me  thy  sister,  and  my  whole  life  shall  atone 
a  moment's  error." 

"  Egyptian,  were  even  I  to  consent,  my  sister  loathes 
the  very  air  thou  breathest :  but  I  have  my  own  wrongs 
to  forgive — I  may  pardon  thee  that  thou  hast  made  me 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        361 

a  tool  to  thy  deceits,  but  never  that  thou  hast  seduced 
me  to  become  the  abettor  of  thy  vices — a  polluted  and 
a  perjured  man.  Tremble! — even  now  I  prepare  the 
hour  in  which  thou  and  thy  false  gods  shall  be  unveiled. 
Thy  lewd  and  Circean  life  shall  be  dragged  to  day, — 
thy  mumming  oracles  disclosed — the  fane  of  the  idol 
Isis  shall  be  a  by-word  and  a  scorn — the  name  of  Ar- 
baces  a  mark  for  the  hisses  of  execration !  Tremble !  " 

The  flush  on  the  Egyptian's  brow  was  succeeded  by 
a  livid  paleness.  He  looked  behind,  before,  around,  to 
feel  assured  that  none  was  by;  and  then  he  fixed  his 
dark  and  dilating  eye  on  the  priest,  with  such  a  gaze 
of  wrath  and  menace,  that  one,  perhaps,  less  supported 
than  Apaecides  by  the  fervent  daring  of  a  divine  zeal, 
could  not  have  faced  with  unflinching  look  that  low- 
ering aspect.  As  it  was,  however,  the  young  convert 
met  it  unmoved,  and  returned  it  with  an  eye  of  proud 
defiance. 

"  Apsecides,"  said  the  Egyptian,  in  a  tremulous  and 
inward  tone,  "  beware !  What  is  it  thou  wouldst  medi- 
tate? Speakest  thou — reflect,  pause  before  thou  re- 
pliest — from  the  hasty  influences  of  wrath,  as  yet  di- 
vining no  settled  purpose,  or  from  some  fixed  design  ?  " 

"  I  speak  from  the  inspiration  of  the  True  God, 
whose  servant  I  now  am,"  answered  the  Christian, 
boldly ;  "  and  in  the  knowledge  that  by  His  grace  hu- 
man courage  has  already  fixed  the  date  of  thy  hypocrisy 
and  thy  demon's  worship ;  ere  thrice  the  sun  has 
dawned,  thou  wilt  know  all!  Dark  sorcerer,  tremble, 
and  farewell !  " 

All  the  fierce  and  lurid  passions  which  he  inherited 
from  his  nation  and  his  clime,  at  all  times  but  ill  con- 
cealed beneath  the  blandness  of  craft  and  the  coldness 
of  philosophy,  were  released  in  the  breast  of  the  Egyp- 


362        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

tian.  Rapidly  one  thought  chased  another ;  he  saw  be- 
fore him  an  obstinate  barrier  to  even  a  lawful  alliance 
with  lone — the  fellow-champion  of  Glaucus  in  the 
struggle  which  had  baffled  his  designs — the  reviler  of 
his  name — the  threatened  desecrator  of  the  goddess  he 
served  while  he  disbelieved — the  avowed  and  approach- 
ing revealer  of  his  own  impostures  and  vices.  His  love, 
his  repute,  nay,  his  very  life,  might  be  in  danger — the 
day  and  hour  seemed  even  to  have  been  fixed  for  some 
design  against  him.  He  knew  by  the  words  of  the  con- 
vert that  Apsecides  had  adopted  the  Christian  faith :  he 
knew  the  indomitable  zeal  which  led  on  the  proselytes 
of  that  creed.  Such  was  his  enemy ;  he  grasped  his 
stilus, — that  enemy  was  in  his  power !  They  were  now 
before  the  chapel ;  one  hasty  glance  once  more  he  cast 
around ;  he  saw  none  near, — silence  and  solitude  alike 
tempted  him. 

"  Die,  then,  in  thy  rashness !  "  he  muttered ;  "  away, 
obstacle  to  my  rushing  fates !  " 

And  just  as  the  young  Christian  had  turned  to  de- 
part, Arbaces  raised  his  hand  high  over  the  left  shoul- 
der of  Apaecides,  and  plunged  his  sharp  weapon  twice 
into  his  breast. 

Apaecides  fell  to  the  ground  pierced  to  the  heart, — 
he  fell  mute,  without  even  a  groan,  at  the  very  base  of 
the  sacred  chapel. 

Arbaces  gazed  upon  him  for  a  moment  with  the 
fierce  animal  joy  of  conquest  over  a  foe.  But  presently 
the  full  sense  of  the  danger  to  which  he  was  exposed 
flashed  upon  him ;  he  wiped  his  weapon  carefully  in  the 
long  grass,  and  with  the  very  garments  of  his  victim ; 
drew  his  cloak  round  him,  and  was  about  to  depart, 
when  he  saw,  coming  up  the  path,  right  before  him,  the 
figure  of  a  young  man,  whose  steps  reeled  and  vacil- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        363 

lated  strangely  as  he  advanced:  the  quiet  moonlight 
streamed  full  upon  his  face,  which  seemed,  by  the 
whitening  ray,  colourless  as  marble.  The  Egyptian 
recognised  the  face  and  form  of  Glaucus.  The  unfor- 
tunate and  benighted  Greek  was  chanting  a  discon- 
nected and  mad  song,  composed  from  snatches  of 
hymns  and  sacred  odes,  all  jarringly  woven  together. 

"  Ha !  "  thought  the  Egyptian,  instantaneously  divin- 
ing his  state  and  its  terrible  cause ;  "  so,  then,  the  hell- 
draught  works,  and  destiny  hath  sent  thee  hither  to 
crush  two  of  my  foes  at  once !  " 

Quickly,  even  ere  this  thought  occurred  to  him,  he 
had  withdrawn  on  one  side  of  the  chapel,  and  con- 
cealed himself  amongst  the  boughs ;  from  that  lurking- 
place  he  watched,  as  a  tiger  in  his  lair,  the  advance  of 
his  second  victim.  He  noted  the  wandering  and  rest- 
less fire  in  the  bright  and  beautiful  eyes  of  the  Athe- 
nian ;  the  convulsions  that  distorted  his  statue-like 
features,  and  writhed  his  hueless  lip.  He  saw  that  the 
Greek  was  utterly  deprived  of  reason.  Nevertheless, 
as  Glaucus  came  up  to  the  dead  body  of  Apaecides,  from 
which  the  dark  red  stream  flowed  slowly  over  the  grass, 
so  strange  and  ghastly  a  spectacle  could  not  fail  to  ar- 
rest him,  benighted  and  erring  as  was  his  glimmering 
sense.  He  paused,  placed  his  hand  to  his  brow,  as  if 
to  collect  himself,  and  then  saying, — 

"What  ho!  Endymion,  sleepest  thou  so  soundly? 
What  has  the  moon  said  to  thee?  Thou  makest  me 
jealous;  it  is  time  to  wake," — he  stooped  down  with 
the  intention  of  lifting  up  the  body. 

Forgetting — feeling  not — his  own  debility,  the 
Egyptian  sprung  from  his  hiding-place,  and,  as  the 
Greek  bent,  struck  him  forcibly  to  the  ground,  over  the 
very  body  of  the  Christian ;  then,  raising  his  powerful 
voice  to  its  loudest  pitch  he  shouted, — 


364        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Ho,  citizens, — ho !  help  me ! — run  hither — hither ! 
— A  murder — a  murder  before  your  very  fane !  Help, 
or  the  murderer  escapes !  "  As  he  spoke,  he  placed  his 
foot  on  the  breast  of  Glaucus :  an  idle  and  superfluous 
precaution ;  for  the  potion  operating  with  the  fall,  the 
Greek  lay  there  motionless  and  insensible,  save  that 
now  and  then  his  lips  gave  vent  to  some  vague  and 
raving  sounds. 

As  he  there  stood  awaiting  the  coming  of  those  his 
voice  still  continued  to  summon,  perhaps  some  remorse, 
some  compunctious  visitings — for  despite  his  crimes  he 
was  human, — haunted  the  breast  of  the  Egyptian ;  the 
defenceless  state  of  Glaucus — his  wandering  words — 
his  shattered  reason,  smote  him  even  more  than  the 
death  of  Apaecides,  and  he  said  half  audibly,  to  him- 
self,— 

"  Poor  clay ! — poor  human  reason !  zvhere  is  the  soul 
now?  I  could  spare  thee,  O  my  rival — rival  never 
more!  But  destiny  must  be  obeyed — my  safety  de- 
mands thy  sacrifice."  With  that,  as  if  to  drown  com- 
punction, he  shouted  yet  more  loudly;  and  drawing 
from  the  girdle  of  Glaucus  the  stilus  it  contained,  he 
steeped  it  in  the  blood  of  the  murdered  man,  and  laid  it 
beside  the  corpse. 

And  now,  fast  and  breathless,  several  of  the  citizens 
came  thronging  to  the  place,  some  with  torches,  which 
the  moon  rendered  unnecessary,  but  which  flared  red 
and  tremulously  against  the  darkness  of  the  trees :  they 
surrounded  the  spot. 

"  Lift  up  yon  corpse,"  said  the  Egyptian,  "  and  guard 
well  the  murderer." 

They  raised  the  body,  and  great  was  their  horror  and 
sacred  indignation  to  discover  in  that  lifeless  clay  a 
priest  of  the  adored  and  venerable  Isis ;  but  still  greater, 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        365 

perhaps,  was  their  surprise,  when  they  found  the  ac- 
cused in  the  brilliant  and  admired  Athenian. 

"  Glaucus !  "  cried  the  bystanders,  with  one  accord ; 
"  is  it  even  credible  ?  " 

"  I  would  sooner,"  whispered  one  man  to  his  neigh- 
bour, "  believe  it  to  be  the  Egyptian  himself." 

Here  a  centurion  thrust  himself  into  the  gathering 
crowd,  with  an  air  of  authority. 

"  How !  blood  spilt !  who  the  murderer  ?  " 

The  bystanders  pointed  to  Glaucus. 

"  He ! — by  Mars,  he  has  rather  the  air  of  being  the 
victim !  Who  accuses  him  ?  " 

"  //'  said  Arbaces,  drawing  himself  up  haughtily ; 
and  the  jewels  which  adorned  his  dress  flashing  in  the 
eyes  of  the  soldier,  instantly  convinced  that  worthy 
warrior  of  the  witness's  respectability. 

"  Pardon  me — your  name  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Arbaces ;  it  is  well  known  methinks  in  Pompeii. 
Passing  through  the  grove,  I  beheld  before  me  the 
Greek  and  the  priest  in  earnest  conversation.  I  was 
struck  by  the  reeling  motions  of  the  first,  his  violent 
gestures,  and  the  loudness  of  his  voice;  he  seemed  to 
me  either  drunk  or  mad.  Suddenly  I  saw  him  raise  his 
stilus — I  darted  forward — too  late  to  arrest  the  blow. 
He  had  twice  stabbed  his  victim,  and  was  bending  over 
him,  when,  in  my  horror  and  indignation,  I  struck  the 
murderer  to  the  ground.  He  fell  without  a  struggle, 
which  makes  me  yet  more  suspect  that  he  was  not  alto- 
gether in  his  senses  when  the  crime  was  perpetrated ; 
for,  recently  recovered  from  a  severe  illness,  my  blow 
was  comparatively  feeble,  and  the  frame  of  Glaucus,  as 
you  see,  is  strong  and  youthful." 

"  His  eyes  are  open  now — his  lips  move,"  said  the 
soldier.  "  Speak,  prisoner,  what  sayest  thou  to  the 
charge  ?  " 


366        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  The  charge — ha — ha !  Why,  it  was  merrily  done ; 
when  the  old  hag  set  her  serpent  at  me,  and  Hecate 
stood  by  laughing  from  ear  to  ear — what  could  I  do? 
But  I  am  ill — I  faint — the  serpent's  fiery  tongue  hath 
bitten  me.  Bear  me  to  bed,  and  send  for  your  physi- 
cian ;  old  ^sculapius  himself  will  attend  me  if  you  let 
him  know  that  I  am  Greek.  Oh,  mercy — mercy — I 
burn  ! — marrow  and  brain,  I  burn  !  " 

And,  with  a  thrilling  and  fierce  groan,  the  Athenian 
fell  back  in  the  arms  of  the  bystanders. 

"  He  raves,"  said  the  officer,  compassionately ;  "  and 
in  his  delirium  he  has  struck  the  priest.  Hath  any  one 
present  seen  him  to-day  ?  " 

"  I,"  said  one  of  the  spectators,  "  beheld  him  in  the 
morning.  He  passed  my  shop  and  accosted  me.  He 
seemed  well  and  sane  as  the  stoutest  of  us." 

"  And  I  saw  him  half  an  hour  ago,"  said  another, 
"  passing  up  the  streets  muttering  to  himself  with 
strange  gestures,  and  just  as  the  Egyptian  has  de- 
scribed." 

"  A  corroboration  of  the  witness  !  it  must  be  too  true. 
He  must  at  all  events  to  the  praetor:  a  pity,  so  young 
and  so  rich  !  But  the  crime  is  dreadful :  a  priest  of  Isis, 
in  his  very  robes,  too,  and  at  the  base  itself  of  our  most 
ancient  chapel !  " 

At  these  words  the  crowd  were  reminded  more  for- 
cibly, than  in  their  excitement  and  curiosity  they  had 
yet  been,  of  the  heinousness  of  the  sacrilege.  They 
shuddered  in  pious  horror. 

"  No  wonder  the  earth  has  quaked,"  said  one,  "  when 
it  held  such  a  monster !  " 

"  Away  with  him  to  prison — away !  "  cried  they  all. 

And  one  solitary  voice  was  heard  shrilly  and  joy- 
ously above  the  rest : — 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        367 
"  The  beasts  will  not  want  a  gladiator  now, 
"  '  Ho,  ho !  for  the  merry,  merry  show ! ' ' 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  young  woman  whose  conver- 
sation with  Medon  has  been  repeated. 

"  True — true — it  chances  in  season  for  the  games !  " 
cried  several ;  and  at  that  thought  all  pity  for  the  ac- 
cused seemed  vanished.  His  youth,  his  beauty,  but 
fitted  him  better  for  the  purpose  of  the  arena. 

"  Bring  hither  some  planks — or  if  at  hand,  a  litter — 
to  bear  the  dead,"  said  Arbaces  :  "  a  priest  of  Isis  ought 
scarcely  to  be  carried  to  his  temple  by  vulgar  hands, 
like  a  butchered  gladiator." 

At  this  the  bystanders  reverently  laid  the  corpse  of 
Apaecides  on  the  ground,  with  the  face  upwards ;  and 
some  of  them  went  in  search  of  some  contrivance  to 
bear  the  body,  untouched  by  the  profane. 

It  was  just  at  that  time  that  the  crowd  gave  way  to 
right  and  left  as  a  sturdy  form  forced  itself  through, 
and  Olinthus  the  Christian  stood  immediately  confront- 
ing the  Egyptian.  But  his  eyes  at  first  only  rested  with 
inexpressible  grief  and  horror  on  that  gory  side  and 
upturned  face  on  which  the  agony  of  violent  death  yet 
lingered. 

"  Murdered !  "  he  said.  "  Is  it  thy  zeal  that  has 
brought  thee  to  this?  Have  they  detected  thy  noble 
purpose,  and  by  death  prevented  their  own  shame  ?  " 

He  turned  his  head  abruptly,  and  his  eyes  fell  full  on 
the  solemn  features  of  the  Egyptian. 

As  he  looked,  you  might  see  in  his  face,  and  even  the 
slight  shiver  of  his  frame,  the  repugnance  and  aver- 
sion which  the  Christian  felt  for  one  whom  he  knew  to 
be  so  dangerous  and  so  criminal.  It  was  indeed  the 
gaze  of  the  bird  upon  the  basilisk — so  silent  was  it  and 


368        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

so  prolonged.  But  shaking  off  the  sudden  chill  that 
had  crept  over  him,  Olinthus  extended  his  right  arm 
toward  Arbaces,  and  said,  in  a  deep  and  loud  voice — 

"  Murder  hath  been  done  upon  this  corpse !  Where 
is  the  murderer  ?  Stand  forth,  Egyptian !  For,  as  the 
Lord  liveth,  I  believe  thou  art  the  man !  " 

An  anxious  and  perturbed  change  might  for  one  mo- 
ment be  detected  on  the  dusky  features  of  Arbaces ;  but 
it  gave  way  to  the  frowning  expression  of  indignation 
and  scorn,  as,  awed  and  arrested  by  the  suddenness  and 
vehemence  of  the  charge,  the  spectators  pressed  nearer 
and  nearer  upon  the  two  more  prominent  actors. 

"  I  know,"  said  Arbaces,  proudly,  "  who  is  my  ac- 
cuser, and  I  guess  wherefore  he  thus  arraigns  me.  Men 
and  citizens,  know  this  man  for  the  most  bitter  of  the 
Nazarenes,  if  that  or  Christians  be  their  proper  name ! 
What  marvel  that  in  his  malignity  he  dares  accuse  even 
an  Egyptian  of  the  murder  of  a  priest  of  Egypt !  " 

"  I  know  him !  I  know  the  dog !  "  shouted  several 
voices.  "  It  is  Olinthus  the  Christian — or  rather  the 
Atheist ; — he  denies  the  gods !  " 

"  Peace,  brethren,"  said  Olinthus,  with  dignity, 
"  and  hear  me !  This  murdered  priest  of  Isis  before 
his  death  embraced  the  Christian  faith — he  revealed 
to  me  the  dark  sins,  the  sorceries  of  yon  Egyptian — 
the  mummeries  and  delusions  of  the  fane  of  Isis.  He 
was  about  to  declare  them  publicly.  He,  a  stranger, 
unoffending,  .without  enemies!  who  should  shed  his 
blood  but  one  of  those  who  feared  his  witness?  Who 
might  fear  that  testimony  the  most? — Arbaces,  the 
Egyptian !  " 

"  You  hear  him !  "  said  Arbaces ;  "  you  hear  him !  he 
blasphemes  !  Ask  him  if  he  believe  in  Isis  ?  " 

"  Do  I  believe  in  an  evil  demon?  "  returned  Olinthus, 
boldly. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        369 

A  groan  and  shudder  passed  through  the  assembly. 
Nothing  daunted,  for  prepared  at  every  time  for  peril, 
and  in  the  present  excitement  losing  all  prudence,  the 
Christian  continued — 

"  Back,  idolaters !  this  clay  is  not  for  your  vain  and 
polluting  rites — it  is  to  us — to  the  followers  of  Christ, 
that  the  last  offices  due  to  a  Christian  belong.  I  claim 
this  dust  in  the  name  of  the  great  Creator  who  has  re- 
called the  spirit !  " 

With  so  solemn  and  commanding  a  voice  and  aspect 
the  Christian  spoke  these  words,  that  even  the  crowd 
forbore  to  utter  aloud  the  execration  of  fear  and  hatred 
which  in  their  hearts  they  conceived.  And  never,  per- 
haps, since  Lucifer  and  the  Archangel  contended  for 
the  body  of  the  mighty  Lawgiver,  was  there  a  more 
striking  subject  for  the  painter's  genius  than  that  scene 
exhibited.  The  dark  trees — the  stately  fane — the  moon 
full  on  the  corpse  of  the  deceased — the  torches  tossing 
wildly  to  and  fro  in  the  rear — the  various  faces  of  the 
motley  audience — the  insensible  form  of  the  Athenian, 
supported,  in  the  distance ;  and  in  the  foreground,  and 
above  all,  the  forms  of  Arbaces  and  the  Christian ;  the 
first  drawn  to  its  full  height,  far  taller  than  the  herd 
around ;  his  arms  folded,  his  brow  knit,  his  eyes  fixed, 
his  lip  slightly  curled  in  defiance  and  disdain.  The  last 
bearing,  on  a  brow  worn  and  furrowed,  the  majesty  of 
an  equal  command — the  features  stern,  yet  frank — the 
aspect  bold,  yet  open — the  quiet  dignity  of  the  whole 
form  impressed  with  an  ineffable  earnestness,  hushed, 
as  it  were,  in  a  solemn  sympathy  with  the  awe  he  him- 
self had  created.  His  left  hand  pointing  to  the  corpse 
— his  right  hand  raised  to  heaven. 

The  centurion  pressed  forward  again. 

"  In  the  first  place,  hast  thou,  Olinthus,  or  whatever 
24 


370        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

be  thy  name,  any  proof 'of  the  charge  thou  hast  made 
against  Arbaces,  beyond  thy  vague  suspicions  ?  " 

Olinthus  remained  silent — the  Egyptian  laughed 
contemptuously. 

"  Dost  thou  claim  the  body  of  a  priest  of  Isis  as  one 
of  the  Nazarene  or  Christian  sect  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Swear  then  by  yon  fane,  yon  statue  of  Cybele,  by 
yon  most  ancient  sacellum  in  Pompeii,  that  the  dead 
man  embraced  your  faith !  " 

"  Vain  man !  I  disown  your  idols !  I  abhor  your 
temples !  How  can  I  swear  by  Cybele  then  ?  " 

"  Away,  away  with  the  Atheist !  away !  the  earth  will 
swallow  us  if  we  suffer  these  blasphemers  in  a  sacred 
grove — away  with  him  to  death !  " 

"  To  the  beasts ! "  added  a  female  voice  in  the  centre 
of  the  crowd ;  "  we  shall  have  one  a-piece  now  for  the 
lion  and  tiger! " 

"  If,  O  Nazarene,  thou  disbelievest  in  Cybele,  which 
of  our  gods  dost  thou  own  ?  "  resumed  the  soldier,  un- 
moved by  the  cries  around. 

"  None !  " 

"  Hark  to  him !  hark !  "  cried  the  crowd. 

"  O  vain  and  blind !  "  continued  the  Christian,  rais- 
ing his  voice ;  "  can  you  believe  in  images  of  wood  and 
stone?  Do  you  imagine  that  they  have  eyes  to  see,  or 
ears  to  hear,  or  hands  to  help  ye?  Is  yon  mute  thing 
carved  by  man's  art  a  goddess! — hath  it  made  man- 
kind ? — alas !  by  mankind  was  it  made !  Lo !  convince 
yourselves,  of  its  nothingness — of  your  folly." 

And  as  he  spoke  he  strode  across  to  the  fane,  and  ere 
any  of  the  bystanders  were  aware  of  his  purpose,  he,  in 
his  compassion  or  his  zeal,  struck  the  statue  of  wood 
from  its  pedestal. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        371 

"  See !  "  cried  he,  "  your  goddess  cannot  avenge  her- 
self. Is  this  a  thing  to  worship  ?  " 

Further  words  were  denied  to  him :  so  gross  and  dar- 
ing a  sacrilege — of  one,  too,  of  the  most  sacred  of  their 
places  of  worship — filled  even  the  most  lukewarm  with 
rage  and  horror.  With  one  accord  the  crowd  rushed 
upon  him,  seized,  and  but  for  the  interference  of  the 
centurion,  they  would  have  torn  him  to  pieces. 

"  Peace !  "  said  the  soldier,  authoritatively, — "  refer 
we  this  insolent  blasphemer  to  the  proper  tribunal — 
time  has  been  already  wasted.  Bear  we  both  the  cul- 
prits to  the  magistrates ;  place  the  body  of  the  priest  on 
the  litter — carry  it  to  his  own  home." 

At  this  moment  a  priest  of  Isis  stepped  forward.  "  I 
claim  these  remains,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
priesthood." 

"  The  flamen  be  obeyed,"  said  the  centurion.  "  How 
is  the  murderer  ?  " 

"  Insensible  or  asleep." 

"  Were  his  crime  less,  I  could  pity  him.    On  !  " 

Arbaces,  as  he  turned,  met  the  eye  of  that  priest  of 
Isis — it  was  Calenus ;  and  something  there  was  in  that 
glance,  so  significant  and  sinister,  that  the  Egyptian 
muttered  to  himself — 

"  Could  he  have  witnessed  the  deed  ?  " 

A  girl  darted  from  the  crowd,  and  gazed  hard  on  the 
face  of  Olinthus.  "By  Jupiter,  a  stout  knave!  I  say, 
we  shall  have  a  man  for  the  tiger  now;  one  for  each 
beast!" 

"  Ho !  "  shouted  the  mob ;  "  a  man  for  the  lion,  and 
another  for  the  tiger !  What  luck !  lo  Paean !  " 


372         THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 
CHAPTER  VII 

IN    WHICH    THE    READER    LEARNS    THE    CONDITION    OF 
GLAUCUS. — FRIENDSHIP  TESTED. — ENMITY  SOFTENED. 

— LOVE  THE  SAME: — BECAUSE  THE  ONE  LOVING  is 

BLIND. 

The  night  was  somewhat  advanced  and  the  gay 
lounging  places  of  the  Pompeians  were  still  crowded. 
You  might  observe  in  the  countenances  of  the  various 
idlers  a  more  earnest  expression  than  usual.  They 
talked  in  large  knots  or  groups,  as  if  they  sought  by 
numbers  to  divide  the  half-painful,  half-pleasurable 
anxiety  which  belonged  to  the  subject  on  which  they 
conversed:  it  was  a  subject  of  life  and  death. 

A  young  man  passed  briskly  by  the  graceful  portico 
of  the  Temple  of  Fortune — so  briskly,  indeed,  that  he 
came  with  no  slight  force  full  against  the  rotund  and 
comely  form  of  that  respectable  citizen  Diomed,  who 
was  retiring  homeward  to  his  suburban  villa. 

"  Holloa !  "  groaned  the  merchant,  recovering  with 
some  difficulty  his  equilibrium ;  "  have  you  no  eyes  ?  or 
do  you  think  I  have  no  feeling  ?  By  Jupiter !  you  have 
well  nigh  driven  out  the  divine  particle;  such  another 
shock,  and  my  soul  will  be  in  Hades !  " 

"  Ah,  Diomed !  is  it  you  ?  forgive  my  inadvertence. 
I  was  absorbed  in  thinking  of  the  reverses  of  life.  Our 
poor  friend,  Glaucus,  eh  !  who  could  have  guessed  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  but  tell  me,  Clodius,  is  he  really  to  be  tried 
by  the  senate  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  they  say  the  crime  is  of  so  extraordinary  a 
nature  that  the  senate  itself  must  adjudge  it;  and  so 
the  lictors  are  to  induct  him  1  formally." 

"  He  has  been  accused  publicly,  then  ?  " 

1  Plin.  Ep.  ii.  n,  12;  v.  4,  13. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         373 

"  To  be  sure ;  where  have  you  been  not  to  hear 
that?" 

"  Why,  I  have  only  just  returned  from  Neapolis, 
whither  I  went  on  business  the  very  morning  after  his 
crime; — so  shocking,  and  at  my  house  the  same  night 
that  it  happened !  " 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  his  guilt,"  said  Clodius, 
shrugging  his  shoulders ;  "  and  as  these  crimes  take 
precedence  of  all  little  undignified  peccadilloes,  they 
will  hasten  to  finish  the  sentence  previous  to  the 
games." 

"  The  games !  Good  gods  !  "  replied  Diomed,  with  a 
slight  shudder;  "  can  they  adjudge  him  to  the  beasts? 
— so  young,  so  rich !  " 

"  True ;  but  then  he  is  a  Greek.  Had  he  been  a  Ro- 
man, it  would  have  been  a  thousand  pities.  These  for- 
eigners can  be  borne  with  in  their  prosperity;  but  in 
adversity  we  must  not  forget  that  they  are  in  reality 
slaves.  However,  we  of  the  upper  classes  are  always 
tender-hearted ;  and  he  would  certainly  get  off  tolerably 
well  if  he  were  left  to  us :  for,  between  ourselves,  what 
is  a  paltry  priest  of  Isis! — what  Isis  herself?  But 
the  common  people  are  superstitious ;  they  clamour  for 
the  blood  of  the  sacrilegious  one.  It  is  dangerous  not 
to  give  wnv  to  public  opinion." 

"  And  the  blasphemer — the  Christian,  or  Nazarene, 
or  whatever  else  he  be  called  ?  " 

"  Oh,  poor  dog!  if  he  will  sacrifice  to  Cybele  or  Isis, 
he  will  be  pardoned — if  not,  the  tiger  has  him.  At 
least,  so  I  suppose ;  but  the  trial  will  decide.  We  talk 
while  the  urn  is  still  empty.  And  the  Greek  may  yet 
escape  the  deadly  6  l  of  his  own  alphabet.  But  enough 
of  this  gloomy  subject.  How  is  the  fair  Julia  ?  " 

1  e  ,  the  initial  of  Bdvaros  (death),  the  condemning  letter  of 
the  Greeks,  as  C  was  of  the  Romans. 


374        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Well,  I  fancy." 

"  Commend  me  to  her.  But  hark !  the  door  yonder 
creaks  on  its  hinges ;  it  is  the  house  of  the  praetor.  Who 
comes  forth?  By  Pollux,  it  is  the  Egyptian!  What 
can  he  want  with  our  official  friend  ?  " 

"  Some  conference  touching  the  murder,  doubtless," 
replied  Diomed ;  "  but  what  was  supposed  to  be  the  in- 
ducement to  the  crime?  Glaucus  was  to  have  married 
the  priest's  sister." 

"  Yes ;  some  say  Apaecides  refused  the  alliance.  It 
might  have  been  a  sudden  quarrel.  Glaucus  was  evi- 
dently drunk; — nay,  so  much  so  as  to  have  been  quite 
insensible  when  taken  up,  and  I  hear  is  still  delirious — 
whether  with  wine,  terror,  remorse,  the  Furies,  or  the 
Bacchanals,  I  cannot  say." 

"  Poor  fellow  ! — he  has  good  counsel  ?  " 

"  The  best — Caius  Pollio,  an  eloquent  fellow  enough. 
Pollio  has  been  hiring  all  the  poor  gentlemen  and  well- 
born spendthrifts  of  Pompeii  to  dress  shabbily  and 
sneak  about,  swearing  their  friendship  to  Glaucus 
(who  would  not  have  spoken  to  them  to  be  made 
emperor! — I  will  do  him  justice,  he  was  a  gentleman 
in  his  choice  of  acquaintance),  and  trying  to  melt  the 
stony  citizens  into  pity.  But  it  will  not  do;  Isis  is 
mighty  popular  just  at  this  moment." 

"  And,  by  the  by,  I  have  some  merchandise  at  Alex- 
andria. Yes,  Isis  ought  to  be  protected." 

"  True ;  so  farewell,  old  gentleman :  we  shall  meet 
soon  ;  if  not,  we  must  have  a  friendly  bet  at  the  Amphi- 
theatre. All  my  calculations  are  confounded  by  this 
cursed  misfortune  of  Glaucus !  He  had  bet  on  Lydon 
the  gladiator;  I  must  make  up  my  tablets  elsewhere. 
Vale!" 

Leaving  the  less  active  Diomed  to  regain  his  villa, 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         375 

Clodius  strode  on,  humming  a  Greek  air,  and  perfum- 
ing the  night  with  the  odours  that  steamed  from  his 
snowy  garments  and  flowing  locks. 

"  If,"  thought  he,  "  Glaucus  feed  the  lion,  Julia  will 
no  longer  have  a  person  to  love  better  than  me;  she 
will  certainly  dote  on  me;  and  so,  I  suppose,  I  must 
marry.  By  the  gods,  the  twelve  lines  begin  to  fail — 
men  look  suspiciously  at  my  hand  when  it  rattles  the 
dice.  That  infernal  Sallust  insinuates  cheating; 
and  if  it  be  discovered  that  the  ivory  is  cogged, 
why,  farewell  to  the  merry  supper  and  the  per- 
fumed billet; — Clodius  is  undone!  Better  marry, 
then,  while  I  may,  renounce  gaming,  and  push  my 
fortune  (or  rather  the  gentle  Julia's)  at  the  imperial 
court." 

Thus  muttering  the  schemes  of  his  ambition,  if  by 
that  high  name  the  projects  of  Clodius  may  be  called, 
the  gamester  found  himself  suddenly  accosted ;  he 
turned  and  beheld  the  dark  brow  of  Arbaces. 

"  Hail !  noble  Clodius !  pardon  my  interruption  ;  and 
inform  me,  I  pray  you,  which  is  the  house  of  Sallust." 

"  It  is  but  a  few  yards  hence,  wise  Arbaces.  But 
does  Sallust  entertain  to-night  ?  " 

"  I  know  not,"  answered  the  Egyptian ;  "  nor  am  I, 
perhaps,  one  of  those  whom  he  would  seek  as  a  boon 
companion.  But  thou  knowest  that  his  house  holds 
the  person  of  Glaucus,  the  murderer." 

"  Ay !  he,  good-hearted  epicure,  believes  in  the 
Greek's  innocence !  You  remind  me  that  he  has  become 
his  surety;  and,  therefore,  till  the  trial,  is  responsible 
for  his  appearance.1  Well,  Sallust's  house  is  better 

1  If  a  criminal  could  obtain  surety  (called  vades  in  capital 
offences),  he  was  not  compelled  to  lie  in  prison  till  after 
sentence. 


376        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

than  a  prison,  especially  that  wretched  hole  in  the 
forum.  But  for  what  can  you  seek  Glaucus  ?  " 

"  Why,  noble  Clodius,  if  we  could  save  him  from 
execution  it  would  be  well.  The  condemnation  of  the 
rich  is  a  blow  upon  society  itself.  I  should  like  to  -con- 
fer with  him — for  I  hear  he  has  recovered  his  senses — 
and  ascertain  the  motives  of  his  crime ;  they  may  be  so 
extenuating  as  to  plead  in  his  defence." 

"  You  are  benevolent,  Arbaces." 

"  Benevolence  is  the  duty  of  one  who  aspires  to  wis- 
dom," replied  the  Egyptian,  modestly.  "  Which  way 
lies  Sallust's  mansion  ?  " 

"  I  will  show  you,"  said  Clodius,  "  if  you  will  suffer 
me  to  accompany  you  a  few  steps.  But,  pray,  what  has 
become  of  the  poor  girl  who  was  to  have  wed  the  Athe- 
nian— the  sister  of  the  murdered  priest  ?  " 

"  Alas !  well-nigh  insane.  Sometimes  she  utters  im- 
precations on  the  murderer — then  suddenly  stops  short 
— then  cries, '  But  why  curse?  Oh,  my  brother !  Glau- 
cus was  not  thy  murderer — never  will  I  believe  it ! ' 
Then  she  begins  again,  and  again  stops  short,  and  mut- 
ters awfully  to  herself, '  Yet  if  it  were  indeed  he  ?  ' ' 

"  Unfortunate  lone !  " 

"  But  it  is  well  for  her  that  those  solemn  cares  to  the 
dead  which  religion  enjoins  have  hitherto  greatly  ab- 
sorbed her  attention  from  Glaucus  and  herself;  and, 
in  the  dimness  of  her  senses,  she  scarcely  seems  aware 
that  Glaucus  is  apprehended  and  on  the  eve  of  trial. 
When  the  funeral  rites  due  to  Apaecides  are  performed, 
her  apprehensions  will  return ;  and  then  I  fear  me 
much  that  her  friends  will  be  revolted  by  seeing  her  run 
to  succour  and  aid  the  murderer  of  her  brother !  " 

"  Such  scandal  should  be  prevented." 

"  I  trust  I  have  taken  precautions  to  that  effect.    I 


am  her  lawful  guardian,  and  have  just  succeeded  in  ob- 
taining permission  to  escort  her,  after  the  funeral  of 
Apaecides,  to  my  own  house ;  there,  please  the  gods ! 
she  will  be  secure." 

"  You  have  done  well,  sage  Arbaces.  And,  now, 
yonder  is  the  house  of  Sallust.  The  gods  keep  you ! 
Yet,  hark  you,  Arbaces — why  so  gloomy  and  unsocial  ? 
Men  say  you  can  be  gay — why  not  let  me  initiate  you 
into  the  pleasures  of  Pompeii? — I  flatter  myself  no 
one  knows  them  better." 

"  I  thank  you,  noble  Clodius :  under  your  auspices  I 
might  venture,  I  think,  to  wear  the  philyra :  but,  at  my 
age,  I  should  be  an  awkward  pupil." 

"  Oh,  never  fear ;  I  have  made  converts  of  fellows  of 
seventy.  The  rich,  too,  are  never  old." 

"  You  flatter  me.  At  some  future  time  I  will  remind 
you  of  your  promise." 

"  You  may  command  Marcus  Clodius  at  all  times ; — 
and  so  vale!" 

"  Now,"  said  the  Egyptian,  soliloquising,  "  I  am  not 
wantonly  a  man  of  blood ;  I  would  willingly  save  this 
Greek,  if,  by  confessing  the  crime,  he  will  lose  himself 
for  ever  to  lone,  and  for  ever  free  me  from  the  chance 
of  discovery ;  and  I  can  save  him  by  persuading  Julia 
to  own  the  philtre,  which  will  be  held  his  excuse.  But 
if  he  do  not  confess  the  crime,  why  Julia  must  be 
shamed  from  the  confession,  and  he  must  die! — die, 
lest  he  prove  my  rival  with  the  living — die  that  he  may 
be  my  proxy  with  the  dead  !  Will  he  confess  ? — can  he 
not  be  persuaded  that  in  his  delirium  he  struck  the 
blow?  To  me  it  would  give  far  greater  safety  than 
even  his  death.  Hem!  we  must  hazard  the  experi- 
ment." 

Sweeping  along  the  narrow  street,  Arbaces  now  ap- 


378        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

preached  the  house  of  Sallust,  when  he  beheld  a  dark 
form  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  and  stretched  at  length  across 
the  threshold  of  the  door. 

So  still  lay  the  figure  and  so  dim  was  its  outline  that 
any  other  than  Arbaces  might  have  felt  a  superstitious 
fear,  lest  he  beheld  one  of  those  grim  lemures,  who, 
above  all  other  spots,  haunted  the  threshold  of  the 
homes  they  formerly  possessed.  But  not  for  Arbaces 
were  such  dreams. 

"  Rise !  "  said  he,  touching  the  figure  with  his  foot ; 
"  thou  obstructest  the  way !  " 

"  Ha !  who  art  thou  ?  "  cried  the  form,  in  a  sharp 
tone ;  and  as  she  raised  herself  from  the  ground,  the 
starlight  fell  full  on  the  pale  face  and  fixed  but  sight- 
less eyes  of  Nydia  the  Thessalian.  "  Who  art  thou  ?  I 
know  the  burden  of  thy  voice." 

"  Blind  girl !  what  dost  thou  here  at  this  late  hour  ? 
Fie ! — is  this  seeming  thy  sex  or  years  ?  Home,  girl !  " 

"  I  know  thee,"  said  Nydia,  in  a  low  voice,  "  thou 
art  Arbaces  the  Egyptian :  "  then,  as  if  inspired  by 
some  sudden  impulse,  she  flung  herself  at  his  feet,  and 
clasping  his  knees,  exclaimed,  in  a  wild  and  passionate 
tone,  "  Oh  dread  and  potent  man !  save  him — save 
him!  He  is  not  guilty — it  is  I!  He  lies  within,  ill, 
dying,  and  I — I  am  the  hateful  cause!  And  they  will 
not  admit  me  to  him — they  spurn  the  blind  girl  from 
the  hall.  Oh,  heal  him!  thou  knowest  some  herb — 
some  spell — some  counter-charm,  for  it  is  a  potion  that 
hath  wrought  this  frenzy !  " 

"  Hush,  child !  I  know  all ! — thou  forgettest  that  I 
accompanied  Julia  to  the  Saga's  home.  Doubtless  her 
hand  administered  the  draught ;  but  her  reputation  de- 
mands thy  silence.  Reproach  not  thyself — what  must 
be,  must :  meanwhile,  I  seek  the  criminal — he  may  yet 
be  saved.  Away !  " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        379 

Thus  saying,  Arbaces  extricated  himself  from  the 
clasp  of  the  despairing  Thessalian,  and  knocked  loudly 
at  the  door. 

In  a  few  moments  the  heavy  bars  were  heard  sud- 
denly to  yield,  and  the  porter,  half  opening  the  door, 
demanded  who  was  there. 

"  Arbaces — important  business  to  Sallust  relative  to 
Glaucus.  I  come  from  the  prsetor." 

The  porter,  half  yawning,  half  groaning,  admitted 
the  tall  form  of  the  Egyptian.  Nydia  sprang  forward. 
"  How  is  he  ?  "  she  cried ;  "  tell  me — tell  me !  " 

"  Ho,  mad  girl !  is  it  thou  still  ? — for  shame !  Why, 
they  say  he  is  sensible." 

"  The  gods  be  praised  ! — and  you  will  not  admit  me  ? 
Ah !  I  beseech  thee " 

"  Admit  thee ! — no.  A  pretty  salute  I  should  pre- 
pare for  these  shoulders  were  I  to  admit  such  things  as 
thou !  Go  home !  " 

The  door  closed,  and  Nydia,  with  a  deep  sigh,  laid 
herself  down  ,once  more  on  the  cold  stones ;  and,  wrap- 
ping her  cloak  round  her  face,  resumed  her  weary  .vigil. 

Meanwhile  Arbaces  had  already  gained  the  triclin- 
ium, where  Sallust,  with  his  favourite  freedman,  sat 
late  at  supper. 

"  What !  Arbaces !  and  at  this  hour ! — Accept  this 
cup." 

"  Nay,  gentle  Sallust ;  it  is  on  business,  not  pleasure, 
that  I  venture  to  disturb  thee.  How  doth  thy  charge  ? 
— they  say  in  the  town  that  he  has  recovered  sense." 

"  Alas !  and  truly,"  replied  the  good-natured  but 
thoughtless  Sallust,  wiping  the  tear  from  his  eyes ; 
"  but  so  shattered  are  his  nerves  and  frame  that  I 
scarcely  recognise  the  brilliant  and  gay  carouser  I  was 
wont  to  know.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  he  cannot  account 


38o        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

for  the  cause  of  the  sudden  frenzy  that  seized  him — • 
he  retains  but  a  dim  consciousness  of  what  hath  passed ; 
and,  despite  thy  witness,  wise  Egyptian,  solemnly  up- 
holds his  innocence  of  the  death  of  Apsecides." 

"  Sallust,"  said  Arbaces,  gravely,  "  there  is  much  in 
thy  friend's  case  that  merits  a  peculiar  indulgence ;  and 
could  we  learn  from  his  lips  the  confession  and  the 
cause  of  his  crime,  much  might  be  yet  hoped  from  the 
mercy  of  the  senate ;  for  the  senate,  thou  knowest,  hath 
the  power  either  to  mitigate  or  to  sharpen  the  law. 
Therefore  it  is  that  I  have  conferred  with  the  highest 
authority  of  the  city,  and  obtained  his  permission  to 
hold  a  private  conference  this  night  with  the  Athenian. 
To-morrow,  thou  knowest,  the  trial  comes  on." 

"  Well,"  said  Sallust,  "  thou  wilt  be  worthy  of  thy 
Eastern  name  and  fame  if  thou  canst  learn  aught  from 
him ;  but  thou  mayst  try.  Poor  Glaucus ! — and  he  had 
such  an  excellent  appetite !  He  eats  nothing  now  !  " 

The  benevolent  epicure  was  moved  sensibly  at  this 
thought.  He  sighed,  and  ordered  his  slaves  to  refill 
his  cup. 

"  Night  wanes,"  said  the  Egyptian ;  "  suffer  me  to 
see  thy  ward  now." 

Sallust  nodded  assent,  and  led  the  way  to  a  small 
chamber,  guarded  without  by  two  dozing  slaves.  The 
door  opened ;  at  the  request  of  Arbaces,  Sallust  with- 
drew— the  Egyptian  was  alone  with  Glaucus. 

One  of  those  tall  and  graceful  candelabra  common 
to  that  day,  supporting  a  single  lamp,  burned  beside 
the  narrow  bed.  Its  rays  fell  palely  over  the  face  of 
the  Athenian,  and  Arbaces  was  moved  to  see  how  sen- 
sibly that  countenance  had  changed.  The  rich  colour 
was  gone,  the  cheek  was  sunk,  the  lips  were  convulsed 
and  pallid;  fierce  had  been  the  struggle  between  rea- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        381 

son  and  madness,  life  and  death.  The  youth,  the 
strength  of  Glaucus  had  conquered ;  but  the  freshness 
of  blood  and  soul — the  life  of  life — its  glory  and  its 
zest,  were  gone  for  ever. 

The  Egyptian  seated  himself  quietly  beside  the  bed ; 
Glaucus  still  lay  mute  and  unconscious  of  his  presence. 
At  length,  after  a  considerable  pause,  Arbaces  thus 
spoke : — 

"  Glaucus,  we  have  been  enemies.  I  come  to  thee 
alone  and  in  the  dead  of  night — thy  friend,  perhaps  thy 
saviour." 

As  the  steed  starts  from  the  path  of  the  tiger,  Glau- 
cus sprang  up  breathless — alarmed,  panting  at  the  ab- 
rupt voice,  the  sudden  apparition  of  his  foe.  Their 
eyes  met,  and  neither,  for  some  moments,  had  power 
to  withdraw  his  gaze.  The  flush  went. and  came  over 
the  face  of  the  Athenian,  and  the  bronzed  cheek  of  the 
Egyptian  grew  a  shade  more  pale.  At  length,  with  an 
inward  groan,  Glaucus  turned  away,  drew  his  hand 
across  his  brow,  sank  back,  and  muttered — 

"  Am  I  still  dreaming?  " 

"  No,  Glaucus,  thou  art  awake.  By  this  right  hand 
and  my  father's  head,  thou  seest  one  who  may  save  thy 
life.  Hark !  I  know  what  thou  hast  done,  but  I  know 
also  its  excuse,  of  which  thou  thyself  art  ignorant. 
Thou  hast  committed  murder,  it  is  true — a  sacrilegious 
murder :  frown  not — start  not — these  eyes  saw  it.  But 
I  can  save  thee — I  can  prove  how  thou  wert  bereaved 
of  sense,  and  made  not  a  free-thinking  and  free-acting 
man.  But  in  order  to  save  thee,  thou  must  confess  thy 
crime.  Sign  but  this  paper,  acknowledging  thy  hand 
in  the  -death  of  Apsecides,  and  thou  shalt  avoid  the  fatal 
urn." 

"  What  words  are  these  ? — Murder  and  Apaecides ! — • 


382        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Did  I  not  see  him  stretched  on  the  ground  bleeding  and 
a  corpse  ?  and  wouldst  thou  persuade  me  that  /  did  the 
deed  ?  Man,  thou  liest !  Away !  " 

"  Be  not  rash — Glaucus,  be  not  hasty ;  the  deed  is 
proved.  Come,  come,  thou  mayst  well  be  excused  for 
not  recalling  the  act  of  thy  delirium,  and  which  thy 
sober  senses  would  have  shunned  even  to  contemplate. 
But  let  me  try  to  refresh  thy  exhausted  and  weary 
memory.  Thou  knowest  thou  wert  walking  with  the 
priest,  disputing  about  his  sister ;  thou  knowest  he  was 
intolerant,  and  half  a  Nazarene,  and  he  sought  to  con- 
vert thee,  and  ye  had  hot  words;  and  he  calumniated 
thy  mode  of  life,  and  swore  he  would  not  marry  lone 
to  thee — and  then,  in  thy  wrath  and  thy  frenzy,  thou 
didst  strike  the  sudden  blow.  Come,  come;  you  can 
recollect  this ! — read  this  papyrus,  it  runs  to  that  effect 
— sign  it,  and  thou  art  saved." 

"  Barbarian,  give  me  the  written  lie,  that  I  may  tear 
it!  /  the  murderer  of  lone's  brother!  /  confess  to 
have  injured  one  hair  of  the  head  of  him  she  loved! 
Let  me  rather  perish  a  thousand  times !  " 

"  Beware !  "  said  Arbaces,  in  a  low  and  hissing  tone ; 
"  there  is  but  one  choice — thy  confession  and  thy  sig- 
nature, or  the  amphitheatre  and  the  lion's  maw !  " 

As  the  Egyptian  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  sufferer,  he 
hailed  with  joy  the  signs  of  evident  emotion  that  seized 
the  latter  at  these  words.  A  slight  shudder  passed  over 
the  Athenian's  frame — his  lip  fell — an  expression  of 
sudden  fear  and  wonder  betrayed  itself  in  his  brow  and 
eye. 

"  Great  gods !  "  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  what  re- 
verse is  this  ?  It  seems  but  a  little  day  since  life  laughed 
out  from  amidst  roses — lone  mine — youth,  health,  love, 
lavishing  on  me  their  treasures ;  and  now — pain,  mad- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        383 

ness,  shame,  death !  And  for  what  ?  What  have  I 
done?  Oh,  I  am  mad  still." 

"  Sign,  and  be  saved !  "  said  the  soft,  sweet  voice  of 
the  Egyptian. 

"  Tempter,  never !  "  cried  Glaucus,  in  the  reaction  of 
'  rage.  "  Thou  knowest  me  not :  thou  knowest  not  the 
haughty  soul  of  an  Athenian !  The  sudden  face  of 
death  might  appal  me  for  a  moment,  but  the  fear  is 
over.  Dishonour  appals  for  ever!  Who  will  debase 
his  name  to  save  his  life  ?  who  exchange  clear  thoughts 
for  sullen  days?  who  will  belie  himself  to  shame,  and 
stand  blackened  in  the  eyes  of  glory  and  of  love?  If 
to  earn  a  few  years  of  polluted  life  there  be  so  base  a 
coward,  dream  not,  dull  barbarian  of  Egypt!  to  find 
him  in  one  who  has  trod  the  same  sod  as  Harmodius, 
and  breathed  the  same  air  as  Socrates.  Go !  leave  me 
to  live  without  self-reproach — or  to  perish  without 
fear!" 

"  Bethink  thee  well !  the  lion's  fangs :  the  hoots  of 
the  brutal  mob:  the  vulgar  gaze  on  thy  dying  agony 
and  mutilated  limbs;  thy  name  degraded;  thy  corpse 
unburied ;  the  shame  thou  wouldst  avoid  clinging  to 
thee  for  aye  and  ever !  " 

"  Thou  ravest !  thou  art  the  madman !  Shame  is  not 
in  the  loss  of  other  men's  esteem, — it  is  in  the  loss  of 
our  own.  Wilt  thou  go? — my  eyes  loathe  the  sight  of 
thee !  hating  ever,  I  despise  thee  now !  " 

"  I  go,"  said  Arbaces,  stung  and  exasperated,  but 
not  without  some  pitying  admiration  of  his  victim, — 
"  I  go ;  we  meet  twice  again — once  at  the  Trial,  once  at 
the  Death !  Farewell !  " 

The  Egyptian  rose  slowly,  gathered  his  robes  about 
him,  and  left  the  chamber.  He  sought  Sallust  for  a 
moment,  whose  eyes  began  to  reel  with  the  vigils  of 


384        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

the  cup :  "  He  is  still  unconscious,  or  still  obstinate ; 
there  is  no  hope  for  him." 

"  Say  not  so,"  replied  Sallust,  who  felt  but  little  re- 
sentment against  the  Athenian's  accuser,  for  he  pos- 
sessed no  great  austerity  of  virtue,  and  was  rather 
moved  by  his  friend's  reverses  than  persuaded  of  his 
innocence, — "  say  not  so,  my  Egyptian !  so  good  a 
drinker  shall  be  saved  if  possible.  Bacchus  against 
Isis !  " 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  the  Egyptian. 

Suddenly  the  bolts  were  again  withdrawn — the  door 
unclosed ;  Arbaces  was  in  the  open  street ;  and  poor 
Nydia  once  more  started  from  her  long  watch. 

"  Wilt  thou  save  him  ? "  she  cried,  clasping  her 
hands. 

"  Child,  follow  me  home ;  I  would  speak  to  thee — it 
is  for  his  sake  I  ask  it." 

"  And  thou  wilt  save  him?  " 

No  answer  came  forth  to  the  thirsting  ear  of  the 
blind  girl:  Arbaces  had  already  proceeded  far  up  the 
street;  she  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  followed  his 
steps  in  silence. 

"  I  must  secure  this  girl,"  said  he,  musingly,  "  lest 
she  give  evidence  of  the  philtre;  as  to  the  vain  Julia, 
she  will  not  betray  herself." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A   CLASSIC    FUNERAL. 


While  Arbaces  had  been  thus  employed,  Sorrow  and 
Death  were  in  the  house  of  lone.  It  was  the  night 
preceding  the  morn  in  which  the  solemn  funeral  rites 
were  to  be  decreed  to  the  remains  of  the  murdered 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         385 

Apsecides.  The  corpse  had  been  removed  from  the 
temple  of  Isis  to  the  house  of  the  nearest  surviving 
relative,  and  lone  had  heard,  in  the  same  breath,  the 
death  of  her  brother  and  the  accusation  against  her 
betrothed.  That  first  violent  anguish  which  blunts  the 
sense  to  all  but  itself,  and  the  forbearing  silence  of  her 
slaves,  had  prevented  her  learning  minutely  the  cir- 
cumstances attendant  on  the  fate  of  her  lover.  His 
illness,  his  frenzy,  and  his  approaching  trial  were  un- 
known to  her.  She  learned  only  the  accusation  against 
him,  and  at  once  indignantly  rejected  it;  nay,  on  hear- 
ing that  Arbaces  was  the  accuser,  she  required  no 
more  to  induce  her  firmly  and  solemnly  to  believe  that 
the  Egyptian  himself  was  the  criminal.  But  the  vast 
and  absorbing  importance  attached  by  the  ancients  to 
the  performance  of  every  ceremonial  connected  with 
the  death  of  a  relation,  had,  as  yet,  confined  her  woe 
and  her  convictions  to  the  chamber  of  the  deceased. 
Alas!  it  was  not  for  her  to  perform  that  tender  and 
touching  office  which  obliged  the  nearest  relative  to 
endeavour  to  catch  the  last  breath — the  parting  soul 
— of  the  beloved  one :  but  it  was  hers  to  close  the  strain- 
ing eyes,  the  distorted  lips :  to  watch  by  the  consecrated 
clay,  as,  fresh  bathed  and  anointed,  it  lay  in  festive 
robes  upon  the  ivory  bed ;  to  strew  the  couch  with 
leaves  and  flowers,  and  to  renew  the  solemn  cypress 
branch  at  the  threshold  of  the  door.  And  in  these  sad 
offices,  in  lamentation  and  in  prayer,  lone  forgot  her- 
self. It  was  among  the  loveliest  customs  of  the  an- 
cients to  bury  the  young  at  the  morning  twilight ;  for, 
as  they  strove  to  give  the  softest  interpretation  to 
death,  so  they  poetically  imagined  that  Aurora,  who 
loved  the  young,  had  stolen  them  to  her  embrace ;  and 
though  in  the  instance  of  the  murdered  priest  this  fable 
25 


386        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

could  not  appropriately  cheat  the  fancy,  the  general 
custom  was  still  preserved. 

The  stars  were  fading  one  by  one  from  the  grey 
heavens,  and  night  slowly  receding  before  the  approach 
of  morn,  when  a  dark  group  stood  motionless  before 
Tone's  door.  High  and  slender  torches,  made  paler  by 
the  unmellowed  dawn,  cast  their  light  over  various 
countenances,  hushed  for  the  moment  in  one  solemn 
and  intent  expression.  And  now  there  arose  a  slow  and 
dismal  music,  which  accorded  sadly  with  the  rite,  and 
floated  far  along  the  desolate  and  breathless  streets; 
while  a  chorus  of  female  voices  (the  Praeficae  so  often 
cited  by  the  Roman  poets),  accompanying  the  Tibicen 
and  the  Mysian  flute,  woke  the  following  strain : — 

THE  FUNERAL  DIRGE 

"  O'er  the  sad  threshold,  where  the  cypress  bough 

Supplants  the  rose  that  should  adorn  thy  home, 
On  the  last  pilgrimage  on  earth  that  now 

Awaits  thee,  wanderer  to  Cocytus,  come ! 
Darkly  we  woo,  and  weeping  we  invite — 

Death  is  thy  host — his  banquet  asks  thy  soul, 
Thy  garlands  hang  within  the  House  of  Night, 

And  the  black  stream  alone  shall  fill  thy  bowl.1 

"  No  more  for  thee  the  laughter  and  the  song, 

The  jocund  night — the  glory  of  the  day! 
The  Argive  daughters2  at  their  labours  long; 

The  hell-bird  swooping  on  its  Titan  prey — 
The  false  bolides3  upheaving  slow, 

O'er  the  eternal  hill,  the  eternal  stone ; 
The  crowned  Lydian,4  in  his  parching  woe, 

And  green  Callirrhoe's  monster-headed  son.' 

1  This  was  rather  a  Greek  than  a  Roman  custom ;  but  the 
reader  will  observe  that  in  the  cities  of  Magna  Graecia  the 
Greek  customs  and  superstitions  were  much  mingled  with  the 
Roman. 

9  The  Danai'des.        *  Sisyphus.        4  Tantalus.        *  Geryon. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        387 

"  These  shalt  thou  see,  dim  shadow'd  through  the  dark 

Which  makes  the  sky  of  Pluto's  dreary  shore; 
Lo !  where  thou  stand' st,  pale-gazing  on  the  bark, 

That  waits  our  rite1   to  bear  thee  trembling  o'er! 
Come,  then !  no  more  delay — the  phantom  pines 

Amidst  the  Unburied  for  its  latest  home ; 
O'er  the  grey  sky  the  torch  impatient  shines — 

Come,  mourner,  forth ! — the  lost  one  bids  thee  come." 

As  the  hymn  died  away,  the  group  parted  in  twain ; 
and  placed  upon  a  couch,  spread  with  a  purple  pall,  the 
corpse  of  Apsecides  was  carried  forth,  with  the  feet 
foremost.  The  designator,  or  marshal  of  the  sombre 
ceremonial,  accompanied  by  his  torch-bearers,  clad  in 
black,  gave  the  signal,  and  the  procession  moved 
dreadly  on. 

First  went  the  musicians,  playing  a  slow  march — 
the  solemnity  of  the  lower  instruments  broken  by  many 
a  louder  and  wilder  burst  of  the  funeral  trumpet :  next 
followed  the  hired  mourners,  chanting  their  dirges  to 
the  dead ;  and  the  female  voices  were  mingled  with 
those  of  boys,  whose  tender  years  made  still  more 
striking  the  contrast  of  life  and  death — the  fresh  leaf 
and  the  withered  one.  But  the  players,  the  buffoons, 
the  archimimus  (whose  duty  it  was  to  personate  the 
dead) — these,  the  customary  attendants  at  ordinary 
funerals,  were  banished  from  a  funeral  attended  with 
so  many  terrible  associations. 

The  priests  of  Isis  came  next  in  their  snowy  gar- 
ments, barefooted,  and  supporting  sheaves  of  corn ; 
while  before  the  corpse  were  carried  the  images  of  the 
deceased  and  his  many  Athenian  forefathers.  And 
behind  the  bier  followed,  amidst  her  women,  the  sole 

'The  most  idle  novel-reader  need  scarcely  be  reminded,  that 
not  till  after  the  funeral  rites  were  the  dead  carried  over  the 

Styx. 


388        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

surviving  relative  of  the  dead — her  head  bare,  her 
locks  dishevelled,  her  face  paler  than  marble,  but  com- 
posed and  still,  save  ever  and  anon,  as  some  tender 
thought,  awakened  by  the  music,  flashed  upon  the  dark 
lethargy  of  woe,  she  covered  that  countenance  with 
her  hands,  and  sobbed  unseen :  for  hers  were  not  the 
noisy  sorrow,  the  shrill  lament,  the  ungoverned  gesture, 
which  characterised  those  who  honoured  less  faith- 
fully. In  that  age,  as  in  all,  the  channel  of  deep  grief 
flowed  hushed  and  still. 

And  so  the  procession  swept  on,  till  it  had  traversed 
the  streets,  passed  the  city  gate,  and  gained  the  Place 
of  Tombs  without  the  wall,  which  the  traveller  yet  be- 
holds. 

Raised  in  the  form  of.  an  altar — of  unpolished  pine, 
amidst  whose  interstices  were  placed  preparations  of 
combustible  matter — stood  the  funeral  pyre ;  and 
around  it  drooped  the  dark  and  gloomy  cypresses  so 
consecrated  by  song  to  the  tomb. 

As  soon  as  the  bier  was  placed  upon  the  pile,  the  at- 
tendants parting  on  either  side,  lone  passed  up  to  the 
couch,  and  stood  before  the  unconscious  clay  for  some 
moments  motionless  and  silent.  The  features  of  the 
dead  had  been  composed  from  the  first  agonised  ex- 
pression of  violent  death.  Hushed  for  ever  the  terror 
and  the  doubt,  the  contest  of  passion,  the  awe  of  re- 
ligion, the  struggle  of  the  past  and  present,  the  hope 
and  the  horror  of  the  future ! — of  all  that  racked  and 
desolated  the  breast  of  that  young  aspirant  to  the  Holy 
of  Life,  what  trace  was  visible  in  the  awful  serenity  of 
*hat  impenetrable  brow  and  unbreathing  lip  ?  The  sis- 
ter gazed,  and  not  a  sound  was  heard  amidst  the  crowd  ; 
there  was  something  terrible,  yet  softening,  also,  in  the 
silence ;  and  when  it  broke,  it  broke  sudden  and  abrupt 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        389 

— it  broke  with  a  loud  and  passionate  cry — the  vent  of 
long-smothered  despair. 

"  My  brother !  my  brother !  "  cried  the  poor  orphan, 
falling  upon  the  couch ;  "  thou  whom  the  worm  on  thy 
path  feared  not — what  enemy  couldst  thou  provoke? 
Oh,  is  it  in  truth  come  to  this  ?  Awake !  awake  !  We 
grew  together !  Are  we  thus  torn  asunder  ?  Thou  art 
not  dead — thou  sleepest.  Awake !  awake !  " 

The  sound  of  her  piercing  voice  aroused  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  mourners,  and  they  broke  into  loud  and 
rude  lament.  This  startled,  this  recalled  lone;  she 
looked  up  hastily  and  confusedly,  as  if  for  the  first  time 
sensible  of  the  presence  of  those  around. 

"  Ah ! "  she  murmured  with  a  shiver,  "  we  are  not 
then  alone! " 

With  that,  after  a  brief  pause,  she  rose :  and  her  pale 
and  beautiful  countenance  was  again  composed  and 
rigid.  With  fond  and  trembling  hands,  she  unclosed 
the  lids  of  the  deceased ;  *  but  when  the  dull  glazed  eye, 
no  longer  beaming  with  love  and  life,  met  hers,  she 
shrieked  aloud,  as  if  she  had  seen  a  spectre.  Once 
more  recovering  herself,  she  kissed  again  and  again  the 
lids,  the  lips,  the  brow ;  and  with  mechanic  and  uncon- 
scious hand,  received  from  the  high  priest  of  her 
brother's  temple  the  funeral  torch. 

The  sudden  burst  of  music,  the  sudden  song  of  the 
mourners,  announced  the  birth  of  the  sanctifying  flame. 

HYMN    TO   THE   WIND 

i. 

"  On  thy  couch  of  cloud  reclined 
Wake,  O  soft  and  sacred  Wind ! 
Soft  and  sacred  will  we  name  thee, 
Whosoe'er  the  sire  that  claim  thee, — 
1  Pliny,  ii.  37. 


390        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Whether  old  Auster's  dusky  child, 

Or  the  loud  son  of  Eurus  wild; 

Or  his1  who  o'er  the  darkling  deeps, 

From  the  bleak  North,  in  tempest  sweeps 

Still  shalt  thou  seem  as  dear  to  us 

As  flowery-crowned  Zephyrus, 

When,  through  twilight's  starry  dew, 

Trembling,  he  hastes  his  nymph2  to  woo. 

ii. 

"  Lo !  our  silver  censers  swinging, 
Perfumes  o'er  thy  path  are  flinging, — 
Ne'er  o'er  Tempe's  breathless  valleys, 
Ne'er  o'er  Cypria's  cedarn  alleys, 
Or  the  Rose-isle's3  moonlit  sea, 
Floated  sweets  more  worthy  thee. 
Lo !  around  our  vases  sending 
Myrrh  and  Nard  with  cassia  blending: 
Paving  air  with  odours  meet, 
For  thy  silver-sandall'd  feet ! 

in. 
"  August  and  everlasting  air ! 

The  source  of  all  that  breathe  and  be, 
From  the  mute  clay  before  thee  bear 

The  seeds  it  took  from  thee ! 
Aspire,  bright  Flame  !  aspire  ! 
Wild  wind! — awake,  awake! 
Thine  own,  O  solemn  Fire ! 
O  Air,  thine  own  retake! 


"  It  comes !  it  comes !    Lo  !  it  sweeps, 

The  Wind  we  invoke  the  while ! 
And  crackles,  and  darts,  and  leaps 

The  light  on  the  holy  pile ! 
It  rises !  its  wings  interweave 
With  the  flames, — how  they  howl  and  heave ! 
Toss'd,  whirl'd  to  and  fro, 
How  the  flame-serpents  glow ! 

1  Boreas.  2  Flora.  3  Rhodes. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        391 

Rushing  higher  and  higher, 

On — on,  fearful  Fire ! 

Thy  giant  limbs  twined 

With  the  arms  of  the  Wind! 
Lo !  the  elements  meet  on  the  throne 
Of  death — to  reclaim  their  own ! 

v. 

"  Swing,  swing  the  censer  round — 
Tune  the  strings  to  a  softer  sound ! 
From  the  chains  of  thy  earthly  toil, 
From  the  clasp  of  thy  mortal  coil, 
From  the  prison  where  clay  confined  thee, 
The  hands  of  the  flame  unbind  thee ! 
O  Soul !  thou  art  free — all  free ! 

"  As  the  winds  in  their  ceaseless  chase, 

When  they  rush  o'er  their  airy  sea, 
Thou  mayst  speed  through  the  realms  of  space, 

No  fetter  is  forged  for  thee ! 
Rejoice !  o'er  the  sluggard  tide 
Of  the  Styx  thy  bark  can  glide, 
And  thy  steps  evermore  shall  rove 
Through  the  glades  of  the  happy  grove; 
Where,  far  from  the  loath'd  Cocytus, 
The  loved  and  the  lost  invite  us. 
Thou  art  slave  to  the  earth  no  more ! 

O  soul,  thou  art  freed ! — and  we  ? — 
Ah!  when  shall  our  toil  be  o'er? 

Ah !  when  shall  we  rest  with  thee  ?  " 

And  now  high  and  far  into  the  dawning  skies  broke 
the  fragrant  fire;  it  flushed  luminously  across  the 
gloomy  cypresses — it  shot  above  the  massive  walls  of 
the  neighbouring  city ;  and  the  early  fisherman  started 
to  behold  the  blaze  reddening  on  the  waves  of  the  creep- 
ing sea. 

But  lone  sat  down  apart  and  alone,  and,  leaning  her 
face  upon  her  hands,  saw  not  the  flame  nor  heard  the 


392        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

lamentations  or  the  music;  she  felt  only  one  sense  of 
loneliness, — she  had  not  yet  arrived  at  that  hallowing 
sense  of  comfort,  when  we  know  that  we  are  not  alone 
— that  the  dead  are  with  us. 

The  breeze  rapidly  aided  the  effect  of  the  combus- 
tibles placed  within  the  pile.  By  degrees  the  flame 
wavered,  lowered,  dimmed,  and  slowly,  by  fits  and  un- 
equal starts,  died  away — emblem  of  life  itself;  where, 
just  before,  all  was  restlessness  and  flame,  now  lay  the 
dull  and  smouldering  ashes. 

The  last  sparks  were  extinguished  by  the  attendants 
— the  embers  were  collected.  Steeped  in  the  rarest 
wine  and  the  costliest  odours,  the  remains  were  placed 
in  a  silver  urn,  which  was  solemnly  stored  in  one  of  the 
neighbouring  sepulchres  beside  the  road ;  and  they 
placed  within  it  the  vial  full  of  tears,  and  the  small  coin 
which  poetry  still  consecrated  to  the  grim  boatman. 
And  the  sepulchre  was  covered  with  flowers  and  chap- 
lets,  and  incense  kindled  on  the  altar,  and  the  tomb 
hung  round  with  many  lamps. 

But  the  next  day,  when  the  priest  returned  with  fresh 
offerings  to  the  tomb,  he  found  that  to  the  relics  of 
heathen  superstition  some  unknown  hands  had  added 
a  green  palm-branch.  He  suffered  it  to  remain,  un- 
knowing that  it  was  the  sepulchral  emblem  of  Chris- 
tianity. 

When  the  above  ceremonies  were  over,  one  of  the 
Praeficae  three  times  sprinkled  the  mourners  from  the 
purifying  branch  of  laurel,  uttering  the  last  word, 
"  I  licet! " — Depart ! — and  the  rite  was  done. 

But  first  they  paused  to  utter — weepingly,  and  many 
times — the  affecting  farewell,  "Salve  Eternum!" 
And  as  lone  yet  lingered,  they  woke  the  parting  strain. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        393 
SALVE  ETERNUM 


"  Farewell !  O  soul  departed ! 
Farewell !  O  sacred  urn  ! 
Bereaved  and  broken-hearted, 
To  earth  the  mourners  turn ! 
To  the  dim  and  dreary  shore, 
Thou  art  gone  our  steps  before ! 
But  thither  the  swift  Hours  lead  us, 
And  thou  dost  but  a  while  precede  us ! 

Salve — salve ! 

Loved  urn,  and  thou  solemn  cell, 
Mute  ashes  ! — farewell,  farewell ! 

Salve — salve ! 

ii. 

Ilicet — ire  licet — 
Ah,  vainly  would  we  part ! 
Thy  tomb  is  the  faithful  heart. 
About  evermore  we  bear  thee ; 
For  who  from  the  heart  can  tear  thee? 
Vainly  we  sprinkle  o'er  us 

The  drops  of  the  cleansing  stream; 
And  vainly  bright  before  us 

The  lustral  fire  shall  beam. 
For  where  is  the  charm  expelling 
Thy  thought  from  its  sacred  dwelling? 
Our  griefs  are  thy  funeral  feast, 
And  memory  thy  mourning  priest, 
Salve — salve ! 


Ilicet — ire  licet ! 
The  spark  from  the  hearth  is  gone 

Wherever  the  air  shall  bear  it ; 
The  elements  take  their  own — 

The  shadows  receive  thy  spirit. 
It  will  soothe  thee  to  feel  our  grief, 

As  thou  glid'st  by  the  Gloomy  River! 


394        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

If  love  may  in  life  be  grief, 

In  death  it  is  fix'd  for  ever. 

Salve — salve ! 

In  the  hall  which  our  feasts  illume, 
The  rose  for  an  hour  may  bloom ; 
But  the  cypress  that  decks  the  tomb — 
The  cypress  is  green  for  ever ! 

Salve — salve !  " 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN   WHICH  AN  ADVENTURE  HAPPENS  TO  IONE. 

While  some  stayed  behind  to  share  with  the  priests 
the  funeral  banquet,  lone  and  her  handmaids  took 
homeward  their  melancholy  way.  And  now  (the  last 
duties  to  her  brother  performed)  her  mind  awoke 
from  its  absorption,  and  she  thought  of  her  affianced, 
and  the  dread  charge  against  him.  Not — as  we  have 
before  said — attaching  even  a  momentary  belief  to  the 
unnatural  accusation,  but  nursing  the  darkest  suspicion 
against  Arbaces,  she  felt  that  justice  to  her  lover  and 
to  her  murdered  relative  demanded  her  to  seek  the 
praetor,  and  communicate  her  impression,  unsupported 
as  it  might  be.  Questioning  her  maidens,  who  had 
hitherto — kindly  anxious,  as  I  have  said,  to  save  her 
the  additional  agony — refrained  from  informing  her  of 
the  state  of  Glaucus,  she  learned  that  he  had  been  dan- 
gerously ill :  that  he  was  in  custody,  under  the  roof  of 
Sallust ;  that  the  day  of  his  trial  was  appointed. 

"  Averting  gods !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  and  have  I  been 
so  long  forgetful  of  him  ?  Have  I  seemed  to  shun  him  ? 
O !  let  me  hasten  to  do  him  justice — to  show  that  I,  the 
nearest  relative  of  the  dead,  believe  him  innocent  of  the 
charge.  Quick !  quick !  let  us  fly.  Let  me  soothe — 


395 

tend — cheer  him!  and  if  they  will  not  believe  me;  if 
they  will  not  yield  to  my  conviction ;  if  they  sentence 
him  to  exile  or  to  death,  let  me  share  the  sentence  with 
him !  " 

Instinctively  sh^  hastened  her  pace,  confused  and 
bewildered,  scarce  knowing  whither  she  went ;  now  de- 
signing first  to  seek  the  praetor,  and  now  to  rush  to  the 
chamber  of  Glaucus.  She  hurried  on — she  passed  the 
gate  of  the  city — she  was  in  the  long  street  leading  up 
the  town.  The  houses  were  opened,  but  none  were  yet 
astir  in  the  streets  ;  the  life  of  the  city  was  scarce  awake 
— when  lo!  she  came  suddenly  upon  a  small  knot  of 
men  standing  beside  a  covered  litter.  A  tall  figure 
stepped  from  the  midst  of  them,  and  lone  shrieked 
aloud  to  behold  Arbaces. 

"  Fair  lone !  "  said  he  gently,  and  appearing  not  to 
heed  her  alarm ;  "  my  ward,  my  pupil !  forgive  me  if  I 
disturb  thy  pious  sorrows ;  but  the  praetor,  solicitous 
of  thy  honour,  and  anxious  that  thou  mayst  not  rashly 
be  implicated  in  the  coming  trial ;  knowing  the  strange 
embarrassment  of  thy  state  (seeking  justice  for  thy 
brother,  but  dreading  punishment  to  thy  betrothed) — 
sympathising,  too,  with  thy  unprotected  and  friendless 
condition,  and  deeming  it  harsh  that  thou  shouldst  be 
suffered  to  act  unguiderl  and  mourn  alone — hath  wisely 
and  paternally  confided  thee  to  the  care  of  thy  lawful 
guardian.  Behold  the  writing  which  intrusts  thee  to 
my  charge !  " 

"  Dark  Egyptian ! "  cried  lone,  drawing  herself 
proudly  aside ;  "  begone !  It  is  thou  that  hast  slain  my 
brother !  Is  it  to  thy  care,  thy  hands  yet  reeking  with 
his  blood,  that  they  will  give  the  sister?  Ha!  thou 
turnest  pale  !  thy  conscience  smites  thee  !  thou  tremblest 
at  the  thunderbolt  of  the  avenging  god !  Pass  on,  and 
leave  me  to  my  woe !  " 


396        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Thy  sorrows  unstring  thy  reason,  lone,"  said  Ar- 
baces,  attempting  in  vain  his  usual  calmness  of  tone. 
"  I  forgive  thee.  Thou  wilt  find  me  now,  as  ever,  thy 
surest  friend.  But  the  public  streets  are  not  the  fitting 
place  for  us  to  confer — for  me  to  console  thee.  Ap- 
proach, slaves!  Come,  my  sweet  charge,  the  litter 
awaits  thee." 

The  amazed  and  terrified  attendants  gathered  round 
lone,  and  clung  to  her  knees. 

"  Arbaces,"  said  the  eldest  of  the  maidens,  "  this  is 
surely  not  the  law !  For  nine  days  after  the  funeral,  is 
it  not  written  that  the  relatives  of  the  deceased  shall 
not  be  molested  in  their  homes,  or  interrupted  in  their 
solitary  grief  ?  " 

"  Woman !  "  returned  Arbaces,  imperiously  waving 
his  hand,  "  to  place  a  ward  under  the  roof  of  her  guard- 
ian is  not  against  the  funeral  laws.  I  tell  thee  I  have 
the  fiat  of  the  praetor.  This  delay  is  indecorous.  Place 
her  in  the  litter." 

So  saying,  he  threw  his  arms  firmly  round  the 
shrinking  form  of  lone.  She  drew  back,  gazed  earn- 
estly in  his  face,  and  then  burst  into  hysterical  laugh- 
ter:— 

"  Ha,  ha !  this  is  well — well !  Excellent  guardian — 
paternal  law !  Ha,  ha !  "  And,  startled  herself  at  the 
dread  echo  of  that  shrill  and  maddened  laughter,  she 
sunk,  as  it  died  away,  lifeless  upon  the  ground.  .  .  . 
A  minute  more,  and  Arbaces  had  lifted  her  into  the  lit- 
ter. The  bearers  moved  swiftly  on,  and  the  unfortu- 
nate lone  was  soon  borne  from  the  sight  of  her  weeping 
handmaids. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        397 


CHAPTER  X 

WHAT  BECOMES  OF  NYDIA  IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  ARBACES. 

THE  EGYPTIAN  FEELS  COMPASSION  FOR  GLAUCUS  — 

COMPASSION    IS    OFTEN    A    VERY    USELESS    VISITOR    TO 
THE  GUILTY. 

It  will  be  remembered  that,  at  the  command  of  Ar- 
baces,  Nydia  followed  the  Egyptian  to  his  home,  and 
conversing  there  with  her,  he  learned  from  the  confes- 
sion of  her  despair  and  remorse,  that  her  hand,  and 
not  Julia's,  had  administered  to  Glaucus  the  fatal  po- 
tion. Aj.  another  time  the  Egyptian  might  have  con- 
ceived a  philosophical  interest  in  sounding  the  depths 
and  origin  of  the  strange  and  absorbing  passion  which, 
in  blindness  and  in  slavery,  this  singular  girl  had  dared 
to  cherish;  but  at  present  he  spared  no  thought  from 
himself.  As,  after  her  confession,  the  poor  Nydia 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  before  him,  and  besought 
him  to  restore  the  health  and  save  the  life  of  Glaucus 
— for  in  her  youth  and  ignorance  she  imagined  the  dark 
magician  all-powerful  to  effect  both — Arbaces,  with 
unheeding  ears,  was  noting  only  the  new  expediency  of 
detaining  Nydia  a  prisoner  until  the  trial  and  fate  of 
Glaucus  were  decided.  For  if  when  he  judged  her 
merely  the  accomplice  of  Julia  in  obtaining  the  philtre, 
he  had  felt  it  was  dangerous  to  the  full  success  of  his 
vengeance  to  allow  her  to  be  at  large — to  appear,  per- 
haps, as  a  witness — to  avow  the  manner  in  which  the 
sense  of  Glaucus  had  been  darkened,  and  thus  win  in- 
dulgence to  the  crime  of  which  he  was  accused — how 
much  more  was  she  likely  to  volunteer  her  testimony 
when  she  herself  had  administered  the  draught,  and, 


398 

inspired  by  love,  would  be  only  anxious,  at  any  ex- 
pense of  shame,  to  retrieve  her  error  and  preserve  her 
beloved?  Besides,  how  unworthy  of  the  rank  and  re- 
pute of  Arbaces  to  be  implicated  in  the  disgrace  of 
pandering  to  the  passion  of  Julia,  and  assisting  in  the 
unholy  rites  of  the  Saga  of  Vesuvius!  Nothing  less, 
indeed,  than  his  desire  to  induce  Glaucus  to  own  the 
murder  of  Apaecides,  as  a  policy  evidently  the  best  both 
for  his  own  permanent  safety  and  his  successful  suit 
with  lone,  could  ever  have  led  him  to  contemplate  the 
confession  of  Julia. 

As  for  Nydia,  who  was  necessarily  cut  off  by  her 
blindness  from  much  of  the  knowledge  of  active  life, 
and  who,  a  slave  and  a  stranger,  was  naturally^  ignorant 
of  the  perils  of  the  Roman  law,  she  thought  rather  of 
the  illness  and  delirium  of  her  Athenian,  than  the  crime 
of  which  she  had  vaguely  heard  him  accused,  or  the 
chances  of  the  impending  trial.  Poor  wretch  that  she 
was,  who  none  addressed,  none  cared  for,  what  did  she 
know  of  the  senate  and  the  sentence — the  hazard  of  the 
law,  the  ferocity  of  the  people — the  arena  and  the  lion's 
den?  She  was  accustomed  only  to  associate  with  the 
thought  of  Glaucus  everything  that  was  prosperous 
and  lofty — she  could  not  imagine  that  any  peril,  save 
from  the  madness  of  her  love,  could  menace  that  sacred 
head.  He  seemed  to  her  set  apart  for  the  blessings  of 
life.  She  only  had  disturbed  the  current  of  his  felicity ; 
she  knew  not,  she  dreamed  not,  that  the  stream,  once 
so  bright,  was  dashing  on  to  darkness  and  to  death.  It 
was  therefore  to  restore  the  brain  that  she  had  marred, 
to  save  the  life  that  she  had  endangered,  that  she  im- 
plored the  assistance  of  the  great  Egyptian. 

"  Daughter,"  said  Arbaces,  waking  from  his  reverie, 
"  thou  must  rest  here ;  it  is  not  meet  for  thee  to  wander 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        399 

along  the  streets,  and  be  spurned  from  the  threshold  by 
the  rude  feet  of  slaves.  I  have  compassion  on  thy  soft 
crime — I  will  do  all  to  remedy  it.  Wait  here  patiently 
for  some  days,  and  Glaucus  shall  be  restored."  So 
saying,  and  without  waiting  for  her  reply,  he  hastened 
from  the  room,  drew  the  bolt  across  the  door,  and  con- 
signed the  care  and  wants  of  his  prisoner  to  the  slave 
who  had  the  charge  of  that  part  of  the  mansion. 

Alone,  then,  and  musingly,  he  waited  the  morning 
light,  and  with  it  repaired,  as  we  have  seen,  to  possess 
himself  of  the  person  of  lone. 

His  primary  object,  with  respect  to  the  unfortunate 
Neapolitan,  was  that  which  he  had  really  stated  to  Ck> 
dius,  viz.  to  prevent  her  interesting  herself  actively  in 
the  trial  of  Glaucus,  and  also  to  guard  against  her  ac- 
cusing him  (which  she  would,  doubtless,  have  done) 
of  his  former  act  of  perfidy  and  violence  towards 
her,  his  ward — denouncing  his  causes  for  vengeance 
against  Glaucus — unveiling  the  hypocrisy  of  his  char- 
acter— and  casting  any  doubt  upon  his  veracity  in  the 
charge  which  he  had  made  against  the  Athenian.  Not 
till  he  had  encountered  her  that  morning — not  till  he 
had  heard  her  loud  denunciations — was  he  aware  that 
he  had  also  another  danger  to  apprehend  in  her  sus- 
picion of  his  crime.  He  hugged  himself  now  in  the 
thought  that  these  ends  were  effected :  that  one,  at  once 
the  object  of  his  passion  and  his  fear,  was  in  his  power. 
He  believed  more  than  ever  the  flattering  promises  of 
the  stars ;  and  when  he  sought  lone  in  that  chamber  in 
the  inmost  recesses  of  his  mysterious  mansion  to  which 
he  had  consigned  her — when  he  found  her  overpowered 
by  blow  upon  blow,  and  passing  from  fit  to  fit,  from 
violence  to  torpor,  in  all  the  alternations  of  hysterical 
disease — he  thought  more  of  the  loveliness  which  no 


400        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

frenzy  could  distort  than  of  the  woe  which  he  had 
brought  upon  her.  In  that  sanguine  vanity  common 
to  men  who  through  life  have  been  invariably  success- 
ful, whether  in  fortune,  or  love,  he  flattered  himself 
that  when  Glaucus  had  perished — when  his  name  was 
solemnly  blackened  by  the  award  of  a  legal  judgment, 
his  title  to  her  love  for  ever  forfeited  by  condemna- 
tion to  death  for  the  murder  of  her  own  brother — her 
affection  would  be  changed  to  horror ;  and  that  his  ten- 
derness and  his  passion,  assisted  by  all  the  arts  with 
which  he  well  knew  how  to  dazzle  woman's  imagina- 
tion, might  elect  him  to  that  throne  in  her  heart  from 
which 'his  rival  would  be  so  awfully  expelled.  This 
was  his  hope :  but  should  it  fail,  his  unholy  and  fervid 
passion  whispered,  "  At  the  worst,  now  she  is  in  my 
power." 

Yet,  withal,  he  felt  that  uneasiness  and  apprehen- 
sion which  attend  upon  the  chance  of  detection,  even 
when  the  criminal  is  insensible  to  the  voice  of  con- 
science— that  vague  terror  of  the  consequences  of 
crime,  which  is  often  mistaken  for  remorse  at  the  crime 
itself.  The  buoyant  air  of  Campania  weighed  heavily 
upon  his  breast ;  he  longed  to  hurry  from  a  scene  where 
danger  might  not  sleep  eternally  with  the  dead ;  and, 
having  lone  now  in  his  possession,  he  secretly  resolved, 
as  soon  as  he  had  witnessed  the  last  agony  of  his  rival, 
to  transport  his  wealth — and  her,  the  costliest  treasure 
of  all,  to  some  distant  shore. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  striding  to  and  fro  his  solitary  cham- 
ber— "  yes,  the  law  that  gave  me  the  person  of  my 
ward  gives  me  the  possession  of  my  bride.  Far  across 
the  broad  main  will  we  sweep  on  our  search  after  novel 
luxuries  and  inexperienced  pleasures.  Cheered  by  my 
stars,  supported  by  the  omens  of  my  soul,  we  will  pene- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        401 

trate  to  those  vast  and  glorious  worlds  which  my  wis- 
dom tells  me  lie  yet  untracked  in  the  recesses  of  the 
circling  sea.  There  may  this  heart,  possessed  of  love, 
grow  once  more  alive  to  ambition — there,  amongst  na- 
tions uncrushed  by  the  Roman  yoke,  and  to  whose  ear 
the  name  of  Rome  has  not  yet  been  wafted;  I  may 
found  an  empire,  and  transplant  my  ancestral  creed 
renewing  the  ashes  of  the  dead  Theban  rule :  continu- 
ing in  yet  grander  shores  the  dynasty  of  my  crowned 
fathers,  and  waking  in  the  noble  heart  of  lone  the 
grateful  consciousness  that  she  shares  the  lot  of  one 
who,  far  from  the  aged  rottenness  of  this  slavish  civil- 
isation, restores  the  primal  elements  of  greatness,  and 
unites  in  one  mighty  soul  the  attributes  of  the  prophet 
and  the  king." 

From  this  exultant  soliloquy,  Arbaces  was  awakened 
to  attend  the  trial  of  the  Athenian. 

The  worn  and  pallid  cheek  of  his  victim  touched  him 
less  than  the  firmness  of  his  nerves  and  the  dauntless- 
ness  of  his  brow ;  for  Arbaces  was  one  who  had  little 
pity  for  what  was  unfortunate,  but  a  strong  sympathy 
for  what  was  bold.  The  congenialities  that  bind  us  to 
others  ever  assimilate  to  the  qualities  of  our  own  na- 
ture. The  hero  weeps  less  at  the  reverses  of  his  enemy 
than  at  the  fortitude  with  which  he  bears  them.  All  of 
us  are  human,  and  Arbaces,  criminal  as  he  was,  had 
his  share  of  our  common  feelings  and  our  mother  clay. 
Had  he  but  obtained  from  Glaucus  the  written  confes- 
sion of  his  crime,  which  would,  better  than  even  the 
judgment  of  others,  have  lost  him  with  lone,  and  re- 
moved from  Arbaces  the  chance  of  future  detection, 
the  Egyptian  would  have  strained  every  nerve  to  save 
his  rival.  Even  now  his  hatred  was  over — his  desire 
of  revenge  was  slaked :  he  crushed  his  prey,  not  in  cn- 
26 


402        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

mity,  but  as  an  obstacle  in  his  path.  Yet  was  he  not 
the  less  resolved,  the  less  crafty  and  persevering,  in  the 
course  he  pursued,  for  the  destruction  of  one  whose 
doom  was  become  necessary  to  the  attainment  of  his 
objects ;  and  while,  with  apparent  reluctance  and  com- 
passion, he  gave  against  Glaucus  the  evidence  which 
condemned  him,  he  secretly,  and  through  the  medium 
of  the  priesthood,  fomented  that  popular  indignation 
which  made  an  effectual  obstacle  to  the  pity  of  the  sen- 
ate. He  had  sought  Julia ;  he  had  detailed  to  her  the 
confession  of  Nydia;  he  had  easily,  therefore,  lulled 
any  scruple  of  conscience  which  might  have  led  her  to 
extenuate  the  offence  of  Glaucus  by  avowing  her  share 
in  his  frenzy ;  and  the  more  readily,  for  her  vain  heart 
had  loved  the  fame  and  the  prosperity  of  Glaucus — 
not  Glaucus  himself;  she  felt  no  affection  for  a  dis- 
graced man — nay,  she  almost  rejoiced  in  the  disgrace 
that  humbled  the  hated  lone.  If  Glaucus  could  not  be 
her  slave,  neither  could  he  be  the  adorer  of  her  rival. 
This  was  sufficient  consolation  for  any  regret  at  his 
fate.  Volatile  and  fickle,  she  began  again  to  be  moved 
by  the  sudden  and  earnest  suit  of  Clodius,  and  was  not 
willing  to  hazard  the  loss  of  an  alliance  with  that  base 
but  high-born  noble  by  any  public  exposure  of  her  past 
weakness  and  immodest  passion  for  another.  All 
things  then  smiled  upon  Arbaces — all  things  frowned 
upon  the  Athenian. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        403 
CHAPTER  XI 

NYDIA  AFFECTS  THE  SORCERESS. 

When  the  Thessalian  found  that  Arbaces  returned  to 
her  no  more — when  she  was  left,  hour  after  hour,  to 
all  the  torture  of  that  miserable  suspense  which  was 
rendered  by  blindness  doubly  intolerable,  she  began, 
with  outstretched  arms,  to  feel  around  her  prison  for 
some  channel  of  escape ;  and  finding  the  only  entrance 
secure,  she  called  aloud,  and  with  the  vehemence  of  a 
temper  naturally  violent,  and  now  sharpened  by  im- 
patient agony. 

"  Ho,  girl ! "  said  the  slave  in  attendance,  opening 
the  door,  "  art  thott  bit  by  a  scorpion  ?  or  thinkest  thou 
that  we  are  dying  of  silence  here,  and  only  to  be  pre- 
served, like  the  infant  Jupiter,  by  a  hullaballoo  ?  " 

"  Where  is  thy  master  ?  and  wherefore  am  I  caged 
here  ?  I  want  air  and  liberty :  let  me  go  forth !  " 

"  Alas !  little  one,  hast  thou  not  seen  enough  of  Ar- 
baces to  know  that  his  will  is  imperial?  He  hath  or- 
dered thee  to  be  caged ;  and  caged  thou  art,  and  I  am 
thy  keeper.  Thou  canst  not  have  air  and  liberty ;  but 
thou  mayst  have  what  are  much  better  things — food 
and  wine." 

"  Proh  Jupiter !  "  cried  the  girl,  wringing  her  hands ; 
"  and  why  am  I  thus  imprisoned  ?  What  can  the  great 
Arbaces  want  with  so  poor  a  thing  as  I  am  ?  " 

"  That  I  know  not,  unless  it  be  to  attend  on  thy  new 
mistress,  who  has  been  brought  hither  this  day." 

"What!  lone  here?" 

"  Yes,  poor  lady !  she  liked  it  little,  I  fear.  Yet,  by 
the  Temple  of  Castor!  Arbaces  is  a  gallant  man  to  the 
women.  Thy  lady  is  his  ward,  thou  knowest." 


404        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Wilt  thou  take  me  to  her  ?  " 

"  She  is  ill — frantic  with  rage  and  spite.  Besides,  I 
have  no  orders  to  do  so ;  and  I  never  think  for  myself. 
When  Arbaces  made  me  slave  of  these  chambers,1  he 
said,  '  I  have  but  one  lesson  to  give  thee ; — while  thou 
servest  me  thou  must  have  neither  ears,  eyes,  nor 
thought ;  thou  must  be  but  one  quality — obedience." 

"  But  what  harm  is  there  in  seeing  lone  ?  " 

"  That  I  know  not ;  but  if  thou  wantest  a  companion, 
I  am  willing  to  talk  to  thee,  little  one,  for  I  am  solitary 
enough  in  my  dull  cubiculum.  And,  by  the  way, 
thou  art  Thessalian — knowest  thou  not  some  cunning 
amusement  of  knife  and  shears,  some  pretty  trick  of 
telling  fortunes,  as  most  of  thy  race  do,  in  order  to  pass 
the  time?" 

"  Tush,  slave,  hold  thy  peace !  or,  if  thou  wilt  speak, 
what  hast  thou  heard  of  the  state  of  Glaucus  ?  " 

"  Why,  my  master  has  gone  to  the  Athenian's  trial ; 
Glaucus  will  smart  for  it !  " 

"For  what?" 

"  The  murder  of  the  priest  Apaecides." 

"  Ha !  "  said  Nydia,  pressing  her  hands  to  her  fore- 
head ;  "  something  of  this  I  have  indeed  heard,  but  un- 
derstand not.  Yet,  who  will  dare  to  touch  a  hair  of  his 
head?" 

"  That  will  the  lion,  I  fear." 

"  Averting  gods !  what  wickedness  dost  thou  utter?  " 

"  Why,  only  that,  if  he  be  found  guilty,  the  lion,  or 
maybe  the  tiger,  will  be  his  executioner." 

Nydia  leaped  up,  as  if  an  arrow  had  entered  her 
heart ;  she  uttered  a  piercing  scream ;  then,  falling  be- 
fore the  feet  of  the  slave,  she  cried,  in  a  tone  that  melted 
even  his  rude  heart, — 

1  In  the  houses  of  the  great,  each  suite  of  chambers  had  its 
peculiar  slave. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        405 

"Ah!  tell  me  thou  jestest — thou  utterest  not  the 
truth — speak,  speak !  " 

"  Why,  by  my  faith,  blind  girl,  I  know  nothing  of  the 
law ;  it  may  not  be  so  bad  as  I  say.  But  Arbaces  is  his 
accuser,  and  the  people  desire  a  victim  for  the  arena. 
Cheer  thee!  But  what  hath  the  fate  of  the  Athenian 
to  do  with  thine  ?  " 

"  No  matter,  no  matter — he  has  been  kind  to  me : 
thou  knowest  not,  then,  what  they  will  do?  Arbaces 
his  accuser!  O  fate!  The  people — the  people!  Ah! 
they  can  look  upon  his  face — who  will  be  cruel  to  the 
Athenian  ! — Yet  was  not  Love  itself  cruel  to  him?  " 

So  saying,  her  head  drooped  upon  her  bosom:  she 
sunk  into  silence;  scalding  tears  flowed  down  her 
cheeks;  and  all  the  kindly  efforts  of  the  slave  were 
unable  either  to  console  her  or  distract  the  absorption 
of  her  reverie. 

When  his  household  cares  obliged  the  ministrant  to 
leave  her  room,  Nydia  began  to  recollect  her  thoughts. 
Arbaces  was  the  accuser  of  Glaucus ;  Arbaces  had  im- 
prisoned her  here;  was  not  that  a  proof  that  her  lib- 
erty might  be  serviceable  to  Glaucus?  Yes,  she  was 
evidently  inveigled  into  some  snare ;  she  was  contribut- 
ing to  the  destruction  of  her  beloved?  Oh,  how  she 
panted  for  release !  Fortunately,  for  her  sufferings,  all 
sense  of  pain  became  merged  in  the  desire  to  escape; 
and  as  she  began  to  resolve  the  possibility  of  deliver- 
ance, she  grew  calm  and  thoughtful.  She  possessed 
much  of  the  craft  of  her  sex,  and  it  had  been  increased 
in  her  breast  by  her  early  servitude.  What  slave  was 
ever  destitute  of  cunning?  She  resolved  to  practise 
upon  her  keeper;  and,  calling  suddenly  to  mind  his 
superstitious  query  as  to  her  Thessalian  art,  she  hoped 
by  that  handle  to  work  out  some  method  of  release. 


406        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

These  doubts  occupied  her  mind  during  the  rest  of 
the  day  and  the  long  hours  of  night ;  and,  accordingly, 
when  Sosia  visited  her  the  following  morning,  she 
hastened  to  divert  his  garrulity  into  that  channel  in 
which  it  had  before  evinced  a  natural  disposition  to 
flow. 

She  was  aware,  however,  that  her  only  chance  of 
escape  was  at  night ;  and  accordingly  she  was  obliged, 
with  a  bitter  pang  at  the  delay,  to  defer  till  then  her 
purposed  attempt. 

"  The  night,"  said  she,  "  is  the  sole  time  in  which  we 
can  well  decipher  decrees  of  Fate — then  it  is  thou 
must  seek  me.  But  what  desirest  thou  to  learn?  " 

"  By  Pollux !  I  should  like  to  know  as  much  as  my 
master;  but  that  is  not  to  be  expected.  Let  me  know, 
at  least,  whether  I  shall  save  enough  to  purchase  my 
freedom,  or  whether  this  Egyptian  will  give  it  me  for 
nothing.  He  does  such  generous  things  sometimes. 
Next,  supposing  that  be  true,  shall  I  possess  myself 
of  that  snug  taberna  among  the  Myropolia,1  which  I 
have  long  had  in  my  eye  ?  'Tis  a  genteel  trade  that  of 
a  perfumer,  and  suits  a  retired  slave  who  has  some- 
thing of  a  gentleman  about  him !  " 

"Ay!  so  you  would  have  precise  answers  to  those 
questions? — there  are  various  ways  of  satisfying  you. 
There  is  the  Lithomanteia,  or  Speaking-stone,  which 
answers  your  prayer  with  an  infant's  voice ;  but,  then, 
we  have  not  that  precious  stone  with  us — costly  is  it 
and  rare.  Then  there  is  the  Gastromanteia,  whereby 
the  demon  casts  pale  and  deadly  images  upon  water, 
prophetic  of  the  future.  But  this  art  requires  also 
glasses  of  a  peculiar  fashion,  to  contain  the  conse- 
crated liquid,  which  we  have  not.  I  think,  therefore, 
1  The  shops  of  the  perfumers. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        407 

that  the  simplest  method  of  satisfying  your  desire 
would  be  by  the  Magic  of  Air." 

"I  trust,"  said  Sosia,  tremulously,  "that  there  is 
nothing  very  frightful  in  the  operation?  I  have  no 
love  for  apparitions." 

"  Fear  not ;  thou  wilt  see  nothing ;  thou  wilt  only 
hear  by  the  bubbling  of  water  whether  or  not  thy  suit 
prospers.  First,  then,  be  sure,  from  the  rising  of  the 
evening  star,  that  thou  leavest  the  garden-gate  some- 
what open,  so  that  the  demon  may  feel  himself  invited 
to  enter  therein ;  and  place  fruits  and  water  near  the 
gate  as  a  sign  of  hospitality ;  then,  three  hours  after 
twilight  come  here  with  a  bowl  of  the  coldest  and 
purest  water,  and  thou  shalt  learn  all,  according  to  the 
Thessalian  lore  my  mother  taught  me.  But  forget  not 
the  garden-gate — all  rests  upon  that :  it  must  be  open 
when  you  come,  and  for  three  hours  previously." 

"  Trust  me,"  replied  the  unsuspecting  Sosia ;  "  I 
know  what  a  gentleman's  feelings  are  when  a  door  is 
shut  in  his  face,  as  the  cook-shops  hath  been  in  mine 
many  a  day ;  and  I  know  also,  that  a  person  of  respec- 
tability, as  a  demon  of  course  is,  cannot  but  be 
pleased,  on  the  other  hand,  with  any  little  mark  of 
courteous  hospitality.  Meanwhile,  pretty  one,  here  is 
thy  morning's  meal." 

"And  what  of  the  trial?" 

"  Oh,  the  lawyers  are  still  at  it — talk,  talk — it  will 
last  over  till  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  ? — you  are  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"  So  I  hear." 

"  And  lone  ?  " 

"  By  Bacchus !  she  must  be  tolerably  well,  for  she 
was  strong  enough  to  make  my  master  stamp  and  bite 
his  lip  this  morning.  I  saw  him  quit  her  apartment 
with  a  brow  like  a  thunderstorm." 


408        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Lodges  she  near  this?  " 

"  No— in  the  upper  apartments.     But  I  must  not 
stay  prating  here  longer. — Vale!  " 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  WASP  VENTURES  INTO  THE  SPIDER'S  WEB. 

The  second  night  of  the  trial  had  set  in ;  and  it  was 
nearly  the  time  in  which  Sosia  was  to  brave  the  dread 
Unknown,  when  there  entered,  at  that  very  garden- 
gate  which  the  slave  had  left  ajar — not,  indeed,  one 
of  the  mysterious  spirits  of  earth  or  air,  but  the  heavy 
and  most  human  form  of  Calenus,  the  priest  of  Isis. 
He  scarcely  noted  the  humble  offerings  of  indifferent 
fruit,  and  still  more  indifferent  wine,  which  the  pious 
Sosia  had  deemed  good  enough  for  the  invisible 
stranger  they  were  intended  to  allure.  "  Some  trib- 
ute," thought  he,  "  to  the  garden  god.  By  my  father's 
head!  if  his  deityship  were  never  better  served,  he 
would  do  well  to  give  up  the  godly  profession.  Ah, 
were  it  not  for  us  priests,  the  gods  would  have  a  sad 
time  of  it.  And  now  for  Arbaces — I  am  treading  a 
quicksand,  but  it  ought  to  cover  a  mine.  I  have  the 
Egyptian's  life  in  my  power — what  will  he  value  it 
at?" 

As  he  thus  soliloquised,  he  crossed  through  the 
open  court  into  the  peristyle,  where  a  few  lamps  here 
and  there  broke  upon  the  empire  of  the  starlit  night ; 
and,  issuing  from  one  of  the  chambers  that  bordered 
the  colonnade,  suddenly  encountered  Arbaces. 

"  Ho !  Calenus — seekest  thou  me  ?  "  said  the  Egyp- 
tian ;  and  there  was  a  little  embarrassment  in  his  voice. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        409 

"  Yes,  wise  Arbaces — I  trust  my  visit  is  not  unsea- 
sonable? " 

"  Nay — it  was  but  this  instant  that  my  freedman 
Callias  sneezed  thrice  at  my  right  hand;  I  knew, 
therefore,  some  good  fortune  was  in  store  for  me — 
and,  lo !  the  gods  have  sent  me  Calenus." 

"  Shall  we  within  to  your  chamber,  Arbaces  ?  " 

"  As  you  will ;  but  the  night  is  clear  and  balmy — I 
have  some  remains  of  languor  yet  lingering  on  me 
from  my  recent  illness — the  air  refreshes  me — let  us 
walk  in  the  garden — we  are  equally  alone  there." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  answered  the  priest ;  and  the 
two  friends  passed  slowly  to  one  of  the  many  terraces 
which,  bordered  by  marble  vases  and  sleeping  flowers, 
intersected  the  garden. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  night," — said  Arbaces — "  blue  and 
beautiful  as  that  on  which,  twenty  years  ago,  the 
shores  of  Italy  first  broke  upon  my  view.  My  Ca- 
lenus, age  creeps  upon  us — let  us,  at  least,  feel  that  we 
have  lived." 

"  Thou,  at  least,  mayst  arrogate  that  boast,"  said 
Calenus,  beating  about,  as  it  were,  for  an  opportunity 
to  communicate  the  secret  which  weighed  upon  him, 
and  feeling  his  usual  awe  of  Arbaces  still  more  im- 
pressively that  night,  from  the  quiet  and  friendly  tone 
of  dignified  condescension  which  the  Egyptian  as- 
sumed— "  thou,  at  least,  mayst  arrogate  that  boast. 
Thou  hast  had  countless  wealth — a  frame  on  whose 
close-woven  fibres  disease  can  find  no  space  to  enter 
— prosperous  love — inexhaustible  pleasure — and,  even 
at  this  hour,  triumphant  revenge." 

"  Thou  alludest  to  the  Athenian.  Ay,  to-morrow's 
sun  the  fiat  of  his  death  will  go  forth.  The  senate  does 
not  relent.  But  thou  mistakest:  his  death  gives  me 


410        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

no  other  gratification  than  that  it  releases  me  from  a 
rival  in  the  affections  of  lone.  I  entertain  no  other 
sentiment  of  animosity  against  that  unfortunate  homi- 
cide." 

"  Homicide !  "  repeated  Calenus,  slowly  and  mean- 
ingly ;  and,  halting  as  he  spoke,  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
Arbaces.  The  stars  shone  pale  and  steadily  on  the 
proud  face  of  their  prophet,  but  they  betrayed  there 
no  change :  the  eyes  of  Calenus  fell  disappointed  and 
abashed.  He  continued  rapidly — "  Homicide !  it  is 
well  to  charge  him  with  that  crime ;  but  thou,  of  all 
men,  knowest  that  he  is  innocent." 

"  Explain  thyself,"  said  Arbaces,  coldly ;  for  he  had 
prepared  himself  for  the  hint  his  secret  fears  had  fore- 
told. 

"  Arbaces,"  answered  Calenus,  sinking  his  voice 
into  a  whisper,  "  I  was  in  the  sacred  grove,  sheltered 
by  the  chapel  and  the  surrounding  foliage.  I  over- 
heard— I  marked  the  whole.  I  saw  thy  weapon  pierce 
the  heart  of  Apaecides.  I  blame  not  the  deed — it  de- 
stroyed a  foe  and  an  apostate." 

"  Thou  sawest  the  whole !  "  said  Arbaces,  drily ; 
"  so  I  imagined — thou  wert  alone  ?  " 

"  Alone !  "  returned  Calenus,  surprised  at  the  Egyp- 
tian's calmness. 

"  And  wherefore  wert  thou  hid  behind  the  chapel 
at  that  hour?" 

"  Because  I  had  learned  the  conversion  of  Apaecides 
to  the  Christian  faith — because  I  knew  that  on  that 
spot  he  was  to  meet  the  fierce  Olinthus — because  they 
were  to  meet  there  to  discuss  plans  for  unveiling  the 
sacred  mysteries  of  our  goddess  to  the  people — and  I 
was  there  to  detect,  in  order  to  defeat  them." 

"  Hast  thou  told  living  ear  what  thou  didst  wit- 
ness?" 


"  No,  my  master ;  the  secret  is  locked  in  thy  ser- 
vant's breast." 

"What!  even  thy  kinsman  Burbo  guesses  it  not? 
Come,  the  truth !  " 

"  By  the  gods " 

"  Hush  !  we  know  each  other — what  are  the  gods  to 
us?" 

"  By  the  fear  of  thy  vengeance,  then, — no !  " 

"  And  why  hast  thou  hitherto  concealed  from  me 
this  secret?  Why  hast  thou  waited  till  the  eve  of  the 
Athenian's  condemnation  before  thou  hast  ventured 
to  tell  me  that  Arbaces  is  a  murderer?  And,  having 
tarried  so  long,  why  revealest  thou  now  that  knowl- 
edge?" 

"  Because — because "  stammered  Calenus,  col- 
ouring and  in  confusion. 

"  Because,"  interrupted  Arbaces,  with  a  gentle 
smile  and  tapping  the  priest  on  the  shoulder  with  a 
kindly  and  familiar  gesture — "  because,  my  Calenus 
(see  now,  I  will  read  thy  heart,  and  explain  its  mo- 
tives)— because  thou  didst  wish  thoroughly  to  com- 
mit and  entangle  me  in  the  trial,  so  that  I  might  have 
no  loophole  of  escape ;  that  I  might  stand  firmly 
pledged  to  perjury  and  to  malice,  as  well  as  to  homi- 
cide ;  that  having  myself  whetted  the  appetite  of  the 
populace  to  blood,  no  wealth,  no  power,  could  pre- 
vent my  becoming  their  victim ;  and  thou  tellest  me 
thy  secret  now,  ere  the  trial  be  over  and  the  innocent 
condemned,  to  show  what  a  desperate  web  of  villany 
thy  word  to-morrow  could  destroy ;  to  enhance  in  this, 
the  ninth  hour,  the  price  of  thy  forbearance ;  to  show 
that  my  own  arts,  in  arousing  the  popular  wrath, 
would,  at  thy  witness,  recoil  upon  myself ;  and  that,  if 
not  for  Glaucus,  for  me  would  gape  the  jaws  of  the 
lion !  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 


412        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Arbaces,"  replied  Calenus,  losing  all  the  vulgar 
audacity  of  his  natural  character,  "  verily  thou  art  a 
Magian ;  thou  readest  the  heart  as  it  were  a  scroll." 

"  It  is  my  vocation,"  answered  the  Egyptian,  laugh- 
ing gently.  "  Well,  then,  forbear ;  and  when  all  is 
over,  I  will  make  thee  rich." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  priest,  as  the  quick  sugges- 
tion of  that  avarice,  which  was  his  master-passion, 
bade  him  trust  no  future  chance  of  generosity ;  "  par- 
don me ;  thou  saidst  right — we  know  each  other.  If 
thou  wouldst  have  me  silent,  thou  must  pay  some- 
thing in  advance,  as  an  offer  to  Harpocrates.1  If  the 
rose,  sweet  emblem  of  discretion,  is  to  take  root 
firmly,  water  her  this  night  with  a  stream  of  gold." 

"  Witty  and  poetical !  "  answered  Arbaces,  still  in 
that  bland  voice  which  lulled  and  encouraged,  when  it 
ought  to  have  alarmed  and  checked,  his  griping  com- 
rade. "  Wilt  thou  not  wait  the  morrow?  " 

"  Why  this  delay  ?  Perhaps,  when  I  can  no  longer 
give  my  testimony  without  shame  for  not  having 
given  it  ere  the  innocent  man  suffered,  thou  wilt  for- 
get my  claim ;  and,  indeed,  thy  present  hesitation  is 
a  bad  omen  of  thy  future  gratitude." 

"  Well,  then,  Calenus,  what  wouldst  thou  have  me 
pay  thee?  " 

"Thy  life  is  very  precious,  and  thy. wealth  is  very 
great,"  returned  the  priest,  grinning. 

"  Wittier  and  more  witty.  But  speak  out — what 
shall  be  the  sum?  " 

"  Arbaces,  I  have  heard  that  in  thy  secret  treasury 

below,  beneath  those  rude  Oscan  arches  which  prop 

thy  stately  halls,  thou  hast  piles  of  gold,  of  vases,  and 

of  jewels,  which  might  rival  the  receptacles  of  the 

1  The  god  of  silence. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        413 

wealth  of  the  deified  Nero.  Thou  mayst  easily  spare 
out  of  those  piles  enough  to  make  Calenus  among  the 
richest  priests  of  Pompeii,  and  yet  not  miss  the  loss." 

"  Come,  Calenus,"  said  Arbaces,  winningly,  and 
with  a  frank  and  generous  air,  "  thou  art  an  old  friend, 
and  hast  been  a  faithful  servant.  Thou  canst  have  no 
wish  to  take  away  my  life,  nor  I  a  desire  to  stint  thy 
reward:  thou  shalt  descend  with  me  to  that  treasury 
thou  referrest  to,  thou  shalt  feast  thine  eyes  with  the 
blaze  of  uncounted  gold  and  the  sparkle  of  priceless 
gems ;  and  thou  shalt,  for  thy  own  reward,  bear  away 
with  thee  this  night  as  much  as  thou  canst  conceal  be- 
neath thy  robes.  Nay,  when  thou  hast  once  seen 
what  thy  friend  possesses,  thou  wilt  learn  how  foolish 
it  would  be  to  injure  one  who  has  so  much  to  bestow. 
When  Glaucus  is  no  more,  thou  shalt  pay  the  treasury 
another  visit.  Speak  I  frankly  and  as  a  friend?" 

"  Oh,  greatest,  best  of  men !  "  cried  Calenus,  almost 
weeping  with  joy,  "  canst  thou  thus  forgive  my  in- 
jurious doubts  of  thy  justice,  thy  generosity  ?  " 

"  Hush !  one  other  turn,  and  we  will  descend  to  the 
Oscan  arches." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  SLAVE  CONSULTS  THE  ORACLE. — THEY  WHO  BLIND 
THEMSELVES  THE  BLIND  MAY  FOOL. TWO  NEW  PRIS- 
ONERS MADE  IN  ONE  NIGHT. 

Impatiently  Nydia  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  no  less 
anxious  Sosia.  Fortifying  his  courage  by  plentiful 
potations  of  a  better  liquor  than  that  provided  for  the 
demon,  the  credulous  ministrant  stole  into  the  blind 
girl's  chamber. 


414        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Well,  Sosia,  and  art  thou  prepared  ?  Hast  thou 
the  bowl  of  pure  water  ?  " 

"  Verily,  yes :  but  I  tremble  a  little.  You  are  sure 
I  shall  not  see  the  demon?  I  have  heard  that  these 
gentlemen  are  by  no  means  of  a  handsome  person  or 
a  civil  demeanour." 

"  Be  assured !  And  hast  thou  left  the  garden-gate 
gently  open?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  placed  some  beautiful  nuts  and  apples 
on  a  little  table  close  by." 

"  That's  well.  And  the  gate  is  open  now,  so  that 
the  demon  may  pass  through  it  ?  " 

"  Surely  it  is." 

"Well,  then,  open  this  door;  there — leave  it  just 
ajar.  And  now,  Sosia,  give  me  the  lamp." 

"  What,  you  will  not  extinguish  it  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  must  breathe  my  spell  over  its  ray. 
There  is  a  spirit  in  fire.  Seat  thyself." 

The  slave  obeyed ;  and  Nydia,  after  bending  for 
some  moments  silently  over  the  lamp,  rose,  and  in  a 
low  voice  chanted  the  following  rude 

INVOCATION   TO   THE   SPECTRE   OF  THE  AIR 

"  Loved  alike  by  Air  and  Water 
Aye  must  be  Thessalia's  daughter; 
To  us,  Olympian  hearts,  are  given 
Spells  that  draw  the  moon  from  heaven. 
All  that  Egypt's  learning  wrought — 
All  that  Persia's  Magian  taught — 
Won  from  song,  or  wrung  from  flowers, 
Or  whisper'd  low  by  fiend — are  ours. 

"  Spectre  of  the  viewless  air ! 
Hear  the  blind  Thessalian's  prayer! 
By  Erictho's  art,  that  shed 
Dews  of  life  when  life  was  fled: — 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        41$ 

By  lone  Ithaca's  wise  king, 
Who  could  wake  the  crystal  spring 
To  the  voice  of  prophecy; 
By  the  lost  Eurydice, 
Summon'd  from  the  shadowy  throng 
At  the  muse-son's  magic  song — 
By  the  Colchian's  awful  charms 
When  fair-haired  Jason  left  her  arms; — 
Spectre  of  the  airy  halls, 
One  who  owns  thee  duly  calls! 
Breathe  along  the  brimming  bowl 
And  instruct  the  fearful  soul 
In  the  shadowy  things  that  lie 
Dark  in  dim  futurity. 
Come,  wild  demon  of  the  air, 
Answer  to  thy  votary's  prayer! 
Come !  oh,  come  ! 

"  And  no  god  on  heaven  or  earth — 
Not  the  Paphian  Queen  of  Mirth, 
Nor  the  vivid  Lord  of  Light, 
Nor  the  triple  Maid  of  Night, 
Nor  the  Thunderer's  self  shall  be 
Blest  and  honour'd  more  than  thee ! 
Come  !  oh,  come  !  " 

"  The  spectre  is  certainly  coming,"  said  Sosia.  "  I 
feel  him  running  along  my  hair !  " 

"  Place  thy  bowl  of  water  on  the  ground.  Now, 
then,  give  me  thy  napkin,  and  let  me  fold  up  thy  face 
and  eyes." 

"  Ay !  that's  always  the  custom  with  these  charms. 
Not  so  tight,  though  :  gently — gently !  " 

"  There — thou  canst  not  see  ?  " 

"  See,  by  Jupiter !    No !  nothing  but  darkness." 

"Address,  then,  to  the  spectre  whatever  question 
thou  wouldst  ask  him,  in  a  low-whispered  voice  three 
times.  If  thy  question  is  answered  in  the  affirmative, 
thou  wilt  hear  the  water  ferment  and  bubble  before 


416        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

the  demon  breathes  upon  it;  if  in  the  negative,  the 
water  will  be  silent." 

"  But  you  will  not  play  any  trick  with  the  water, 
eh?" 

"  Let  me  place  the  bowl  under  thy  feet — so.  Now 
thou  wilt  perceive  that  I  cannot  touch  it  without  thy 
knowledge." 

"  Very  fair.  Now,  then,  O  Bacchus !  befriend  me. 
Thou  knowest  that  I  have  always  loved  thee  better 
than  all  the  other  gods,  and  I  will  dedicate  to  thee 
that  silver  cup  I  stole  last  year  from  the  burly  carptor 
(butler),  if  thou  wilt  but  befriend  me  with  this  water- 
loving  demon.  And  thou,  O  Spirit !  listen  and  hear 
me.  Shall  I  be  enabled  to  purchase  my  freedom  next 
year?  Thou  knowest;  for,  as  thou  livest  in  the  air, 
the  birds  l  have  doubtless  acquainted  thee  with  every 
secret  of  this  house — thou  knowest  that  I  have  filched 
and  pilfered  all  that  I  honestly — that  is,  safely — could 
lay  finger  upon  for  the  last  three  years,  and  I  yet  want 
two  thousand  sesterces  of  the  full  sum.  Shall  I  be 
able,  O  good  Spirit !  to  make  up  the  deficiency  in 
the  course  of  this  year  ?  Speak — Ha !  does  the  water 
bubble  ?  No ;  all  is  as  still  as  a  tomb. — Well,  then,  if 
not  this  year,  in  two  years  ? — Ah  !  I  hear  something ; 
the  demon  is  scratching  at  the  door ;  he'll  be  here  pres- 
ently.— In  two  years,  my  good  fellow:  come  now, 
two ;  that's  a  very  reasonable  time.  What !  dumb 
still !  Two  years  and  a  half — three — four?  Ill  fortune 
to  you,  friend  demon !  You  are  no  lady,  that's  clear, 
or  you  would  not  keep  silence  so  long.  Five — six — 
sixty  years?  and  may  Pluto  seize  you!  I'll  ask  no 

1  Who  are  supposed  to  know  all  secrets.  The  same  super- 
stition prevails  in  the  east,  and  is  not  without  example,  also, 
in  our  northern  legends. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        417 

more."  And  Sosia,  in  a  rage,  kicked  down  the  water 
over  his  legs.  He  then,  after  much  fumbling,  and 
more  cursing,  managed  to  extricate  his  head  from  the 
napkin  in  which  it  was  completely  folded — stared 
round — and  discovered  that  he  was  in  the  dark. 

"  What  ho !  Nydia ;  the  lamp  is  gone.  Ah,  traitress  • 
and  thou  art  gone  too ;  but  I'll  catch  thee — thou  shalt 
smart  for  this !  " 

The  slave  groped  his  way  to  the  door ;  it  was  bolted 
from  without:  he  was  a  prisoner  instead  of  Nydia. 
What  could  he  do?  He  did  not  dare  to  knock  loud 
— to  call  out — lest  Arbaces  should  overhear  him,  and 
discover  how  he  had  been  duped;  and  Nydia,  mean- 
while, had  probably  already  gained  the  garden-gate 
and  was  fast  on  her  escape. 

"  But,"  thought  he,  "  she  will  go  home,  or  at  least 
be  somewhere  in  the  city.  To-morrow,  at  dawn, 
when  the  slaves  are  at  work  in  the  peristyle,  I  can 
make  myself  heard ;  then  I  can  go  forth  and  seek  her. 
I  shall  be  sure  to  find  and  bring  her  back  before  Ar- 
baces knows  a  word  of  the  matter.  Ah !  that's  the  best 
plan.  Little  traitress,  my  fingers  itch  at  thee:  and  to 
leave  only  a  bowl  of  water,  too !  Had  it  been  wine, 
it  would  have  been  some  comfort." 

While  Sosia,  thus  entrapped,  was  lamenting  his 
fate,  and  revolving  his  schemes  to  repossess  himself 
of  Nydia,  the  blind  girl,  with  that  singular  precision 
and  dexterous  rapidity  of  motion,  which,  we  have  be- 
fore observed,  was  peculiar  to  her,  had  passed  lightly 
along  the  peristyle,  threaded  the  opposite  passage 
that  led  into  the  garden,  and,  with  a  beating  heart, 
was  about  to  proceed  towards  the  gate,  when  she  sud- 
denly heard  the  sound  of  approaching  steps,  and  dis- 
tinguished the  dreaded  voice  of  Arbaces  himself.  She 

27 


418        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

paused  for  a  moment  in  doubt  and  terror,  then  sud- 
denly it  flashed  across  her  recollection  that  there  was 
another  passage  which  was  little  used  except  for  the 
admission  of  the  fair  partakers  of  the  Egyptian's  se- 
cret revels,  and  which  wound  along  the  basement  of 
that  massive  fabric  towards  a  door  which  also  com- 
municated with  the  garden.  By  good  fortune  it  might 
be  open.  At  that  thought  she  hastily  retraced  her 
steps,  descended  the  narrow  stairs  at  the  right,  and 
was  soon  at  the  entrance  of  the  passage.  Alas!  the 
door  at  the  entrance  was  closed  and  secured.  While 
she  was  yet  assuring  herself  that  it  was  indeed  locked, 
she  heard  behind  her  the  voice  of  Calenus,  and,  a  mo- 
ment after,  that  of  Arbaces  in  low  reply.  She  could 
not  stay  there;  they  were  probably  passing  to  this 
very  door.  She  sprang  onward,  and  felt  herself  in 
unknown  ground.  The  air  grew  damp  and  chill ;  this 
reassured  her.  She  thought  she  might  be  among  the 
cellars  of  the  luxurious  mansion,  or,  at  least,  in  some 
rude  spot  not  likely  to  be  visited  by  its  haughty  lord, 
when  again,  her  quick  ear  caught  steps  and  the  sound 
of  voices.  On,  on,  she  hurried,  extending  her  arms, 
which  now  frequently  encountered  pillars  of  thick  and 
massive  form.  With  a  tact,  doubled  in  acuteness  by 
her  fear,  she  escaped  these  perils,  and  continued  her 
way,  the  air  growing  more  and  more  damp  as  she 
proceeded ;  yet,  still,  as  she  ever  and  anon  paused  for 
breath,  she  heard  the  advancing  steps  and  the  indis- 
tinct murmur  of  voices.  At  length  she  was  abruptly 
stopped  by  a  wall  that  seemed  the  limit  of  her  path. 
Was  there  no  spot  in  which  she  could  hide  ?  No  aper- 
ture ?  no  cavity  ?  There  was  none !  She  stopped,  and 
wrung  her  hands  in  despair ;  then  again  nerved  as  the 
voices  neared  upon  her,  she  hurried  on  by  the  side  of 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        419 

the  wall ;  and  coming  suddenly  against  one  of  the  sharp 
buttresses  that  here  and  there  jutted  boldly  forth,  she 
fell  to  the  ground.  Though  much  bruised,  her  senses 
did  not  leave  her ;  she  uttered  no  cry ;  nay,  she  hailed 
the  accident  that  had  led  her  to  something  like  a 
screen ;  and  creeping  close  up  to  the  angle  formed  by 
the  buttress,  so  that  on  one  side  at  least  she  was  shel- 
tered from  view,  she  gathered  her  slight  and  small 
form  into  its  smallest  compass,  and  breathlessly 
awaited  her  fate. 

Meanwhile  Arbaces  and  the  priest  were  taking  their 
way  to  that  secret  chamber  whose  stores  were  so 
vaunted  by  the  Egyptian.  They  were  in  a  vast  sub- 
terranean atrium,  or  hall ;  the  low  roof  was  supported 
by  short,  thick  pillars  of  an  architecture  far  remote 
from  the  Grecian  graces  of  that  luxuriant  period.  The 
single  and  pale  lamp,  which  Arbaces  bore,  shed  but  an 
imperfect  ray  over  the  bare  and  rugged  walls,  in  which 
the  huge  stones,  without  cement,  were  fitted  curiously 
and  uncouthly  into  each  other.  The  disturbed  reptiles 
glared  dully  on  the  intruders,  and  then  crept  into  the 
shadow  of  the  walls. 

Calenus  shivered  as  he  looked  around  and  breathed 
the  damp,  unwholesome  air. 

"  Yet,"  said  Arbaces,  with  a  smile,  perceiving  his 
shudder,  "  it  is  these  rude  abodes  that  furnish  the 
luxuries  of  the  halls  above.  They  are  like  the  labourers 
of  the  world, — we  despise  their  ruggedness,  yet  they 
feed  the  very  pride  that  disdains  them." 

"And  whither  goes  yon  dim  gallery  to  the  left?" 
asked  Calenus  ;  "  in  this  depth  of  gloom  it  seems  with- 
out limit,  as  if  winding  into  Hades." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  does  but  conduct  to  the  upper 
day,"  answered  Arbaces,  carelessly :  "  it  is  to  the  right 
that  we  steer  to  our  bourne." 


420        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  hall,  like  many  in  the  more  habitable  regions  of 
Pompeii,  branched  off  at  the  extremity  into  two  wings 
or  passages  ;  the  length  of  which,  not  really  great,  was 
to  the  eye  considerably  exaggerated  by  the  sullen 
gloom  against  which  the  lamp  so  faintly  struggled.  To 
the  right  of  these  ales  the  two  comrades  now  directed 
their  steps. 

"  The  gay  Glaucus  will  be  lodged  to-morrow  in 
apartments  not  much  drier,  and  far  less  spacious  than 
this,"  said  Calenus,  as  they  passed  by  the  very  spot 
where,  completely  wrapped  in  the  shadow  of  the 
broad,  projecting  buttress,  cowered  the  Thessalian. 

"  Ay,  but  then  he  will  have  dry  room,  and  ample 
enough,  in  the  arena  on  the  following  day.  And  to 
think,"  continued  Arbaces,  slowly,  and  very  deliber- 
ately— "  to  think  that  a  word  of  thine  could  save  him, 
and  consign  Arbaces  to  his  doom !  " 

"  That  word  shall  never  be  spoken,"  said  Calenus. 

"  Right,  my  Calenus !  it  never  shall,"  returned  Ar- 
baces, familiarly  leaning  his  arm  on  the  priest's  shoul- 
der: "  and  now,  halt — we  are  at  the  door!  " 

The  light  trembled  against  a  small  door  deep  set  in 
the  wall,  and  guarded  strongly  by  many  plates  and 
bindings  of  iron,  that  intersected  the  rough  and  dark 
wood.  From  his  girdle  Arbaces  now  drew  a  small 
ring,  holding  three  or  four  short  but  strong  keys.  O, 
how  beat  the  griping  heart  of  Calenus,  as  he  heard  the 
rusty  wards  growl,  as  if  resenting  the  admission  to  the 
treasures  they  guarded ! 

"  Enter,  my  friend,"  said  Arbaces,  "  while  I  hold  the 
lamp  on  high,  that  thou  mayst  glut  thine  eyes  on  the 
yellow  heaps." 

The  impatient  Calenus  did  not  wait  to  be  twice  in- 
vited ;  he  hastened  towards  the  aperture. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        421 

Scarce  had  he  crossed  the  threshold,  when  the 
strong  hand  of  Arbaces  plunged  him  forwards. 

"  The  word  shall  never  be  spoken!  "  said  the  Egyp- 
tian, with  a  loud,  exultant  laugh,  and  closed  the  doot 
upon  the  priest. 

Calenus  had  been  precipitated  down  several  steps, 
but  not  feeling  at  the  moment  the  pain  of  his  fall,  he 
sprang  up  again  to  the  door,  and  beating  at  it  fiercely 
with  his  clenched  fist,  he  cried  aloud  in  what  seemed 
more  a  beast's  howl  than  a  human  voice,  so  keen  was 
his  agony  and  despair:  "  Oh,  release  me,  release  me, 
and  I  will  ask  no  gold  !  " 

The  words  but  imperfectly  penetrated  the  massive 
door,  and  Arbaces  again  laughed.  Then,  stamping  his 
foot  violently,  rejoined,  perhaps  to  give  vent  to  his 
long-stifled  passions, — 

"  All  the  gold  of  Dalmatia,"  cried  he,  "  will  not  buy 
thee  a  crust  of  bread.  Starve,  wretch !  thy  dying 
groans  will  never  wake  even  the  echo  of  these  vast 
halls :  nor  will  the  air  ever  reveal,  as  thou  gnawest,  in 
thy  desperate  famine,  thy  flesh  from  thy  bones,  that  so 
perishes  the  man  who  threatened,  and  could  have  un- 
done, Arbaces !  Farewell !  " 

"  Oh,  pity — mercy !  Inhuman  villain ;  was  it  for 
this- 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  to  the  ear  of  Ar- 
baces as  he  passed  backward  along  the  dim  hall.  A 
toad,  plump  and  bloated,  lay  unmoving  before  his 
path;  the  rays  of  the  lamp  fell  upon  its  unshaped 
hideousness  and  red  upward  eye.  Arbaces  turned 
aside  that  he  might  not  harm  it. 

"  Thou  art  loathsome  and  obscene,"  he  muttered, 
"  but  thou  canst  not  injure  me ;  therefore  thou  art  safe 
in  my  path." 


422        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  cries  of  Calenus,  dulled  and  choked  by  the  bar- 
rier that  confined  him,  yet  faintly  reached  the  ear  of 
the  Egyptian.  He  paused  and  listened  intently. 

"  This  is  unfortunate,"  thought  he ;  "  for  I  cannot 
sail  till  that  voice  is  dumb  for  ever.  My  stores  and 
treasures  lie,  not  in  yon  dungeon,  it  is  true,  but  in  the 
opposite  wing.  My  slaves,  as  they  move  them,  must 
not  hear  his  voice.  But  what  fear  of  that?  In  three 
days,  if  he  still  survive,  his  accents,  by  my  father's 
beard,  must  be  weak  enough,  then ! — no,  they  could 
not  pierce  even  through  his  tomb.  By  Isis,  it  is  cold ! 
— I  long  for  a  deep  draught  of  the  spiced  Falernian." 

With  that  the  remorseless  Egyptian  drew  his  gown 
closer  round  him,  and  resought  the  upper  air. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

NYDIA  ACCOSTS   CALENUS. 

What  words  of  terror,  yet  of  hope,  had  Nydia  over- 
heard !  The  next  day  Glaucus  was  to  be  condemned, 
yet  there  lived  one  who  could  save  him,  and  adjudge 
Arbaces  to  his  doom,  and  that  one  breathed  within 
a  few  steps  of  her  hiding-place !  She  caught  his  cries 
and  shrieks — his  imprecations — his  prayers,  though 
they  fell  choked  and  muffled  on  her  ear.  He  was  im- 
prisoned, but  she  knew  the  secret  of  his  cell ;  could 
she  but  escape — could  she  but  seek  the  praetor,  he 
might  yet  in  time  be  given  to  light,  and  preserve  the 
Athenian.  Her  emotions  almost  stifled  her;  her  brain 
reeled — she  felt  her  sense  give  way — but  by  a  violent 
effort  she  mastered  herself;  and,  after  listening  in- 
tently for  several  minutes,  till  she  was  convinced  that 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        423 

Arbaces  had  left  the  space  to  solitude  and  herself,  she 
crept  on  as  her  ear  guided  her  to  the  very  door  that 
had  closed  upon  Calenus.  Here  she  more  distinctly 
caught  his  accents  of  terror  and  despair.  Thrice  she 
attempted  to  speak,  and  thrice  her  voice  failed  to 
penetrate  the  folds  of  the  heavy  door.  At  length  find- 
ing the  lock,  she  applied  her  lips  to  its  small  aperture, 
and  the  prisoner  distinctly  heard  a  soft  tone  breathe 
his  name. 

His  blood  curdled — his  hair  stood  on  end.  That 
awful  solitude,  what  mysterious  and  preternatural  be- 
ing could  penetrate!  "Who's  there?"  he  cried,  in 
new  alarm ;  "  what  spectre — what  dread  larva,  calls 
upon  the  lost  Calenus  ?  " 

"  Priest,"  replied  the  Thessalian,  "  unknown  to  Ar- 
baces, I  have  been,  by  the  permission  of  the  gods,  a 
witness  to  his  perfidy.  If  I  myself  can  escape  from 
these  walls,  I  may  save  thee.  But  let  thy  voice  reach 
my  ear  through  this  narrow  passage,  and  answer 
what  I  ask." 

"  Ah,  blessed  spirit,"  said  the  priest,  exultingly,  and 
obeying  the  suggestion  of  Nydia,  "  save  me*,  and  I 
will  sell  the  very  cups  on  the  altar  to  pay  thy  kind- 
ness." 

"  I  want  not  thy  gold — I  want  thy  secret.  Did  I 
hear  aright? — Canst  thou  save  the  Athenian  Glaucus 
from  the  charge  against  his  life  ?  " 

"  I  can — I  can ! — therefore  (may  the  Furies  blast  the 
foul  Egyptian !)  hath  Arbaces  snared  me  thus,  and  left 
me  to  starve  and  rot !  " 

"  They  accuse  the  Athenian  of  murder :  canst  thou 
disprove  the  accusation?  " 

"  Only  free  me,  and  the  proudest  head  of  Pompeii 
is  not  more  safe  than  his.  I  saw  the  deed  done — I  saw 


424        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Arbaces  strike  the  blow ;  I  can  convict  the  true  mur- 
derer and  acquit  the  innocent  man.  But  if  I  perish, 
he  dies  also.  Dost  thou  interest  thyself  for  him  ?  Oh, 
blessed  stranger,  in  my  heart  is  the  urn  which  con- 
demns or  frees  him !  " 

"  And  thou  wilt  give  full  evidence  of  what  thou 
knowest?  " 

"  Will  ? — Oh !  were  hell  at  my  feet — yes !  Revenge 
on  the  false  Egyptian ! — revenge  !  revenge  !  revenge !  " 

As  through  his  ground  teeth  Calenus  shrieked  forth 
those  last  words,  Nydia  felt  that  in  his  worst  passions 
was  her  certainty  of  his  justice  to  the  Athenian.  Her 
heart  beat ;  was  it  to  be  her  proud  destiny  to  preserve 
her  idolised — her  adored  ?  "  Enough,"  said  she ;  "  the 
powers  that  conducted  me  hither  will  carry  me 
through  all.  Yes,  I  feel  that  I  shall  deliver  thee.  Wait 
in  patience  and  hope." 

"  But  be  cautious,  be  prudent,  sweet  stranger.  At- 
tempt not  to  appeal  to  Arbaces — he  is  marble.  Seek 
the  praetor — say  what  thou  knowest — obtain  his  writ 
of  search ;  bring  soldiers,  and  smiths  of  cunning — 
these  locks  are  wondrous  strong !  Time  flies — I  may 
starve — starve  !  if  you  are  not  quick !  Go — go !  Yet 
stay — it  is  horrible  to  be  alone  ! — the  air  is  like  a  char- 
nel — and  the  scorpions — ha !  and  the  pale  larva.  Oh ! 
stay,  stay !  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Nydia,  terrified  by  the  terror  of  the 
priest,  and  anxious  to  confer  with  herself, — "  nay,  for 
thy  sake,  I  must  depart.  Take  Hope  for  thy  compan- 
ion— farewell ! " 

So  saying,  she  glided  away,  and  felt  with  extended 
arms  along  the  pillared  space  until  she  gained  the 
farther  end  of  the  hall  and  the  mouth  of  the  passage 
that  led  to  the  upper  air.  But  there  she  paused ;  she 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        42$ 

felt  that  it  would  be  more  safe  to  wait  awhile,  until 
the  night  was  so  far  blended  with  the  morning  that 
the  whole  house  would  be  buried  in  sleep,  and  so  that 
she  might  quit  it  unobserved.  She,  therefore,  once 
more  laid  herself  down,  and  counted  the  weary  mo- 
ments. In  her  sanguine  heart,  joy  was  the  predomi- 
nant emotion.  Glaucus  was  in  deadly  peril — but  she 
should  save  him ! 


CHAPTER  XV 

ARBACES  AND  IONE. — NYDIA  GAINS  THE  GARDEN. WILL 

SHE  ESCAPE  AND  SAVE  THE  ATHENIAN  ? 

When  Arbaces  had  warmed  his  veins  by  large 
draughts  of  that  spiced  and  perfumed  wine  so  valued 
by  the  luxurious,  he  felt  more  than  usually  elated  and 
exultant  of  heart.  There  is  a  pride  in  triumphant  in- 
genuity, not  less  felt,  perhaps,  though  its  object  be 
guilty.  Our  vain  human  nature  hugs  itself  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  superior  craft  and  self-obtained  success 
— afterwards  comes  the  horrible  reaction  of  remorse. 

But  remorse  was  not  a  feeling  which  Arbaces  was 
likely  ever  to  experience  for  the  fate  of  the  base  Ca- 
lenus.  He  swept  from  his  remembrance  the  thought 
of  the  priest's  agonies  and  lingering  death:  he  felt 
only  that  a  great  danger  was  passed,  and  a  possible 
foe  silenced ;  all  left  to  him  now  would  be  to  account 
to  the  priesthood  for  the  disappearance  of  Calenus; 
and  this  he  imagined  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  do. 
Calenus  had  often  been  employed  by  him  in  various 
religious  missions  to  the  neighbouring  cities.  On 
some  such  errand  he  could  now  assert  that  he  had 
been  sent,  with  offerings  to  the  shrines  of  Isis  at  Her- 


425        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

culaneum  and  Neapolis,  placatory  of  the  goddess  for 
the  recent  murder  of  her  priest  Apaecides.  When  Ca- 
lenus  had  expired,  his  body  might  be  thrown,  pre- 
vious to  the  Egyptian's  departure  from  Pompeii,  into 
the  deep  stream  of  the  Sarnus ;  and  when  discovered, 
suspicion  would  probably  fall  upon  the  Nazarene 
atheists,  as  an  act  of  revenge  for  the  death  of  Olinthus 
at  the  arena.  After  rapidly  running  over  these  plans 
for  screening  himself,  Arbaces  dismissed  at  once  from 
his  mind  all  recollection  of  the  wretched  priest ;  and, 
animated  by  the  success  which  had  lately  crowned  all 
his  schemes,  he  surrendered  his  thoughts  to  lone. 
The  last  time  he  had  seen  her,  she  had  driven  him 
from  her  presence  by  a  reproachful  and  bitter  scorn, 
which  his  arrogant  nature  was  unable  to  endure.  He 
now  felt  emboldened  once  more  to  renew  that  inter- 
view ;  for  his  passion  for  her  was  like  similar  feelings 
in  other  men — it  made  him  restless  for  her  presence, 
even  though  in  that  presence  he  was  exasperated  and 
humbled.  From  delicacy  to  her  grief  he  laid  not  aside 
his  dark  and  unfestive  robes,  but,  renewing  the  per- 
fumes on  his  raven  locks,  and  arranging  his  tunic  in 
its  most  becoming  folds,  he  sought  the  chamber  of  the 
Neapolitan.  Accosting  the  slave  in  attendance  with- 
out, he  inquired  if  lone  had  yet  retired  to  rest;  and 
learning  that  she  was  still  up,  and  unusually  quiet  and 
composed,  he  ventured  into  her  presence.  He  found 
his  beautiful  ward  sitting  before  a  small  table,  and 
leaning  her  face  upon  both  her  hands  in  the  attitude 
of  thought.  Yet  the  expression  of  the  face  itself  pos- 
sessed not  its  wonted  bright  and  Psyche-like  expres- 
sion of  sweet  intelligence  ;  the  lips  were  apart — the  eye 
vacant  and  unheeding — and  the  long  dark  hair,  falling 
neglected  and  dishevelled  upon  her  neck,  gave  by  the 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        427 

contrast  additional  paleness  to  a  cheek  which  had  al- 
ready lost  the  roundness  of  its  contour. 

Arbaces  gazed  upon  her  a  moment  ere  he  advanced. 
She,  too,  lifted  up  her  eyes;  and  when  she  saw  who 
was  the  intruder,  shut  them  with  an  expression  of 
pain,  but  did  not  stir. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Arbaces,  in  a  low  and  earnest  tone,  as 
he  respectfully,  nay,  humbly,  advanced  and  seated 
himself  at  a  little  distance  from  the  table — "  ah !  that 
my  death  could  remove  thy  hatred,  then  would  I 
gladly  die !  Thou  wrongest  me,  lone ;  but  I  will  bear 
the  wrong  without  a  murmur,  only  let  me  see  thee 
sometimes.  Chide,  reproach,  scorn  me,  if  thou  wilt 
— I  will  teach  myself  to  bear  it.  And  is  not  even  thy 
bitterest  tone  sweeter  to  me  than  the  music  of  the 
most  artful  lute?  In  thy  silence  the  world  seems  to 
stand  still — a  stagnation  curdles  up  the  veins  of  the 
earth — there  is  no  earth,  no  life,  without  the  light  of 
thy  countenance  and  the  melody  of  thy  voice." 

"  Give  me  back  my  brother  and  my  betrothed," 
said  lone,  in  a  calm  and  imploring  tone,  and  a  few 
large  tears  rolled  unheeded  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Would  that  I  could  restore  the  one  and  save  the 
other !  "  returned  Arbaces,  with  apparent  emotion. 
"  Yes ;  to  make  thee  happy  I  would  renounce  my  ill- 
fated  love,  and  gladly  join  thy  hand  to  the  Athenian's. 
Perhaps  he  will  yet  come  unscathed  from  his  trial 
[Arbaces  had  prevented  her  learning  that  the  trial  had 
already  commenced] ;  if  so,  thou  art  free  to  judge  or 
condemn  him  thyself.  And  think  not,  O  lone,  that  I 
would  follow  thee  longer  with  a  prayer  of  love.  I 
know  it  is  in  vain.  Suffer  me  only  to  weep — to  mourn 
with  thee.  Forgive  a  violence  deeply  repented,  and 
that  shall  offend  no  more.  Let  me  be  to  thee  only 


428        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

what  I  was — a  friend,  a  father,  a  protector.  Ah,  lone ! 
spare  me  and  forgive." 

"  I  forgive  thee.  Save  but  Glaucus,  and  I  will  re- 
nounce him.  O  mighty  Arbaces !  thou  art  powerful 
in  evil  or  in  good:  save  the  Athenian,  and  the  poor 
lone  will  never  see  him  more."  As  she  spoke,  she 
rose  with  weak  and  trembling  limbs,  and  falling  at  his 
feet,  she  clasped  his  knees :  "  Oh !  if  thou  really  lovest 
me — if  thou  art  human — remember  my  father's  ashes, 
remember  my  childhood,  think  of  all  the  hours  we 
passed  happily  together,  and  save  my  Glaucus ! " 

Strange  convulsions  shook  the  frame  of  the  Egyp- 
tian ;  his  features  worked  fearfully — he  turned  his  face 
aside,  and  said,  in  a  hollow  voice,  "  If  I  could  save  him, 
even  now,  I  would ;  but  the  Roman  law  is  stern  and 
sharp.  Yet  if  I  could  succeed — if  I  could  rescue  and 
set  him  free — wouldst  thou  be  mine — my  bride  ?  " 

"Thine!"  repeated  lone,  rising:  "thine! — thy 
bride  ?  My  brother's  blood  is  unavenged :  who  slew 
him  ?  O  Nemesis,  can  I  even  sell,  for  the  life  of  Glau- 
cus, thy  solemn  trust?  Arbaces — thine?  Never." 

"  lone,  lone !  "  cried  Arbaces  passionately ;  "  why 
these  mysterious  words ; — why  dost  thou  couple  my 
name  with  the  thought  of  thy  brother's  death  ?  " 

"  My  dreams  couple  it — and  dreams  are  from  the 
gods." 

"  Vain  fantasies  all !  Is  it  for  a  dream  that  thou 
wouldst  wrong  the  innocent,  and  hazard  thy  sole 
chance  of  saving  thy  lover's  life  ?  " 

"  Hear  me !  "  said  lone,  speaking  firmly,  and  with 
a  deliberate  and  solemn  voice :  "  if  Glaucus  be  saved 
by  thee,  I  will  never  be  borne  to  his  home  a  bride. 
But  I  cannot  master  the  horror  of  other  rites :  I  can- 
not wed  with  thee.  Interrupt  me  not;  but  mark  me, 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        429 

Arbaces ! — if  Glaucus  die,  on  that  same  day  I  baffle 
thine  arts,  and  leave  to  thy  love  only  my  dust !  Yes, 
— thou  mayst  put  the  knife  and  the  poison  from  my 
reach — thou  mayst  imprison — thou  mayst  chain  me, 
but  the  brave  soul  resolved  to  escape  is  never  without 
means.  These  hands,  naked  and  unarmed  though 
they  be,  shall  tear  away  the  bonds  of  life.  Fetter 
them,  and  these  lips  shall  firmly  refuse  the  air.  Thou 
art  learned — thou  hast  read  how  women  have  died 
rather  than  meet  dishonour.  If  Glaucus  perish,  I  will 
not  unworthily  linger  behind  him.  By  all  the  gods  of 
the  heaven,  and  the  ocean,  and  the  earth,  I  devote  my- 
self to  death  !  I  have  said  !  " 

High,  proud,  dilating  in  her  stature,  like  one  in- 
spired, the  air  and  voice  of  lone  struck  an  awe  into 
the  breast  of  her  listener. 

"  Brave  heart !  "  said  he,  after  a  short  pause ;  "  thou 
art  indeed  worthy  to  be  mine.  Oh !  that  I  should 
have  dreamt  of  such  a  partner  in  my  lofty  destinies, 
and  never  found  it  but  in  thee !  lone,"  he  continued 
rapidly,  "  dost  thou  not  see  that  we  are  born  for  each 
other?  Canst  thou  not  recognise  something  kindred 
to  thine  own  energy — thine  own  courage — in  this 
high  and  self-dependent  soul?  We  were  formed  to 
unite  our  sympathies — formed  to  breathe  a  new  spirit 
into  this  hackneyed  and  gross  world — formed  for  the 
mighty  ends  which  my  soul,  sweeping  down  the 
gloom  of  time,  foresees  with  a  prophet's  vision.  With 
a  resolution  equal  to  thine  own  I  defy  thy  threats  of 
an  inglorious  suicide.  I  hail  thee  as  my  own !  Queen 
of  climes  undarkened  by  the  eagle's  wing,  unravaged 
by  his  beak,  I  bow  before  thee  in  homage  and  in  awe 
— but  I  claim  thee  in  worship  and  in  love !  Together 
we  will  cross  the  ocean — together  we  will  found  our 


430        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

realm ;  and  far  distant  ages  shall  acknowledge  the 
long  race  of  kings  born  from  the  marriage-bed  of 
Arbaces  and  lone !  " 

"  Thou  ravest !  These  mystic  declamations  are 
suited  rather  to  some  palsied  crone  selling  charms  in 
the  market-place  than  to  the  wise  Arbaces.  Thou 
hast  heard  my  resolution, — it  is  fixed  as  the  Fates 
themselves.  Orcus  has  heard  my  vow,  and  it  is  writ- 
ten in  the  book  of  the  unforgetful  Hades.  Atone, 
then,  O  Arbaces ! — atone  the  past :  convert  hatred 
into  regard — vengeance  into  gratitude ;  preserve  one 
who  shall  never  be  thy  rival.  These  are  acts  suited 
to  thy  original  nature,  which  gives  forth  sparks  of 
something  high  and  noble.  They  weigh  in  the  scales 
of  the  Kings  of  Death :  they  turn  the  balance  on  that 
day  when  the  disembodied  soul  stands  shivering  and 
dismayed  between  Tartarus  and  Elysium;  they  glad- 
den the  heart  in  life,  better  and  longer  than  the 
reward  of  a  momentary  passion.  Oh,  Arbaces !  hear 
me,  and  be  swayed ! " 

"  Enough,  lone.  All  that  I  can  do  for  Glaucus 
shall  be  done;  but  blame  me  not  if  I  fail.  Inquire 
of  my  foes,  even,  if  I  have  not  sought,  if  I  do  not  seek, 
to  turn  aside  the  sentence  from  his  head ;  and  judge 
me  accordingly.  Sleep  then,  lone.  Night  wanes ;  I 
leave  thee  to  its  rest, — and  mayst  thou  have  kinder 
dreams  of  one  who  has  no  existence  but  in  thine." 

Without  waiting  a  reply  Arbaces  hastily  withdrew ; 
afraid,  perhaps,  to  trust  himself  further  to  the  pas- 
sionate prayer  of  lone,  which  racked  him  with  jeal- 
ousy, even  while  it  touched  him  to  compassion.  But 
compassion  itself  came  too  late.  Had  lone  even 
pledged  him  her  hand  as  his  reward,  he  could  not  now 
— his  evidence  given — the  populace  excited — have 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        431 

saved  the  Athenian.  Still,  made  sanguine  by  his  very 
energy  of  mind,  he  threw  himself  on  the  chances  of 
the  future,  and  believed  he  should  yet  triumph  over 
the  woman  that  had  so  entangled  his  passions. 

As  his  attendants  assisted  to  unrobe  him  for  the 
night  the  thought  of  Nydia  flashed  across  him.  He 
felt  it  was  necessary  that  lone  should  never  learn  of 
her  lover's  frenzy,  lest  it  might  excuse  his  imputed 
crime ;  and  it  was  possible  that  her  attendants  might 
inform  her  that  Nydia  was  under  his  roof,  and  she 
might  desire  to  see  her.  As  this  idea  crossed  him,  he 
turned  to  one  of  his  freedmen, — 

"  Go,  Callias,"  said  he,  "  forthwith  to  Sosia,  and  tell 
him,  that  on  no  pretence  is  he  to  suffer  the  blind  slave 
Nydia  out  of  her  chamber.  But,  stay — first  seek 
those  in  attendance  upon  my  ward,  and  caution  them 
not  to  inform  her  that  the  blind  girl  is  under  my  roof. 
Go — quick !  " 

The  freedman  hastened  to  obey.  After  having  dis- 
charged his  commission  with  respect  to  lone's  attend- 
ants, he  sought  the  worthy  Sosia.  He  found  him  not 
in  the  little  cell  which  was  apportioned  for  his  cubicu- 
lum ;  he  called  his  name  aloud,  and  from  Nydia's 
chamber,  close  at  hand,  he  heard  the  voice  of  Sosia 
reply, — 

"  Oh,  Callias,  is  that  you  that  I  hear  ? — the  gods  be 
praised  !  Open  the  door,  I  pray  you !  " 

Callias  withdrew  the  bolt,  and  the  rueful  face  of 
Sosia  hastily  obtruded  itself. 

"  What ! — in  the  chamber  with  that  young  girl, 
Sosia !  Proh  pudor!  Are  there  not  fruits  ripe  enough 
on  the  wall,  but  that  thou  must  tamper  with  such 
green — — " 

"  Name  not  the  little  witch !  "  interrupted  Sosia, 


432        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

impatiently ;  "  she  will  be  my  ruin !  "  And  he  forth- 
with imparted  to  Callias  the  history  of  the  Air 
Demon,  and  the  escape  of  the  Thessalian. 

"  Hang  thyself,  then,  unhappy  Sosia !  I  am  just 
charged  from  Arbaces  with  a  message  to  thee ;  on  no 
account  art  thou  to  suffer  her,  even  for  a  moment, 
from  that  chamber !  " 

"  Me  miserum ! "  exclaimed  the  slave.  "  What  can 
I  do?  By  this  time  she  may  have  visited  half  Pom- 
peii. But  to-morrow  I  will  undertake  to  catch  her  in 
her  old  haunts.  Keep  but  my  counsel,  my  dear  Cal- 
lias." 

"  I  will  do  all  that  friendship  can,  consistent  with 
my  own  safety.  But  are  you  sure  she  has  left  the 
house  ? — she  may  be  hiding  here  yet." 

"  How  is  that  possible  ?  She  could  easily  have 
gained  the  garden :  and  the  door  as  I  told  thee  was 
open." 

"  Nay,  not  so !  for,  at  that  very  hour  thou  specifiest, 
Arbaces  was  in  the  garden  with  the  priest  Calenus.  I 
went  there  in  search  of  some  herbs  for  my  master's 
bath  to-morrow.  I  saw  the  table  set  out ;  but  the  gate 
I  am  sure  was  shut :  depend  upon  it,  that  Calenus  en- 
tered by  the  garden,  and  naturally  closed  the  door 
after  him." 

"  But  it  was  not  locked." 

"  Yes ;  for  I  myself,  angry  at  a  negligence  which 
might  expose  the  bronzes  in  the  peristyle  to  the  mercy 
of  any  robber,  turned  the  key,  took  it  away,  and — as 
I  did  not  see  the  proper  slave  to  whom  to  give  it,  or 
I  should  have  rated  him  finely — here  it  actually  is,  still 
in  my  girdle." 

"  Oh,  merciful  Bacchus !  I  did  not  pray  to  thee  in 
vain,  after  all.  Let  us  not  lose  a  moment!  Let  us 
to  the  garden  instantly — she  may  yet  be  there  I  " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        433 

The  good-natured  Callias  consented  to  assist  the 
slave ;  and  after  vainly  searching  the  chambers  at 
hand,  and  the  recesses  of  the  peristyle,  they  entered 
the  garden. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Nydia  had  resolved  to 
quit  her  hiding-place,  and  venture  forth  on  her  way. 
Lightly,  tremulously  holding  her  breath,  which  ever 
and  anon  broke  forth  in  quick  convulsive  gasps, — 
now  gliding  by  the  flower-wreathed  columns  that 
bordered  the  peristyle — -now  darkening  the  still 
moonshine  that  fell  over  its  tesselated  centre — now 
ascending  the  terrace  of  the  garden — now  gliding 
amidst  the  gloomy  and  breathless  trees,  she  gained 
the  fatal  door — to  find  it  locked!  We  have  all  seen 
that  expression  of  pain,  of  uncertainty,  of  fear,  which 
a  sudden  disappointment  of  touch,  if  I  may  use  the 
expression,  casts  over  the  face  of  the  blind.  But 
what  words  can  paint  the  intolerable  woe,  the  sinking 
of  the  whole  heart,  which  was  now  visible  on  the 
features  of  the  Thessalian?  Again  and  again  her 
small,  quivering  hands  wandered  to  and  fro  the  in- 
exorable door.  Poor  thing  that  thou  wert!  in  vain 
had  been  all  thy  noble  courage,  thy  innocent  craft, 
thy  doublings  to  escape  the  hound  and  huntsmen ! 
Within  but  a  few  yards  from  thee,  laughing  at  thy  en- 
deavours— thy  despair — knowing  thou  wert  now  their 
own,  and  watching  with  cruel  patience  their  own  mo- 
ment to  seize  their  prey — thou  art  saved  from  seeing 
thy  pursuers ! 

"  Hush,  Callias ! — let  her  go  on.  Let  us  see  what 
she  will  do  when  she  has  convinced  herself  that  the 
door  is  honest." 

"  Look !  she  raises  her  face  to  the  heavens — she 
mutters — she  sinks  down  despondent !  No !  by  Pol- 
28 


lux,  she  has  some  new  scheme !  She  will  not  resign 
herself !  By  Jupiter,  a  tough  spirit !  See,  she  springs 
up — she  retraces  her  steps — she  thinks  of  some  other 
chance ! — I  advise  thee,  Sosia,  to  delay  no  longer : 
seize  her  ere  she  quit  the  garden,  now !  " 

"  Ah  !  runaway  !  I  have  thee,  eh  ?  "  said  Sosia,  seiz- 
ing upon  the  unhappy  Nydia. 

As  a  hare's  last  human  cry  in  the  fangs  of  the  dogs 
— as  the  sharp  voice  of  terror  uttered  by  a  sleep- 
walker suddenly  awakened — broke  the  shriek  of  the 
blind  girl,  when  she  felt  the  abrupt  gripe  of  her  gaoler. 
It  was  a  shriek  of  such  utter  agony,  such  entire 
despair,  that  it  might  have  rung  hauntingly  in  your 
ears  for  ever.  She  felt  as  if  the  last  plank  of  the  sink- 
ing Glaucus  were  torn  from  his  clasp !  It  had  been  a 
suspense  of  life  and  death;  and  death  had  now  won 
the  game. 

"  Gods !  that  cry  will  alarm  the  house !  Arbaces 
sleeps  full  lightly.  Gag  her !  "  cried  Callias. 

"  Ah  !  here  is  the  very  napkin  with  which  the  young 
witch  conjured  away  my  reason !  Come,  that's  right ; 
now  thou  art  dumb  as  well  as  blind." 

And,  catching  the  light  weight  in  his  arms,  Sosia 
soon  gained  the  house,  and  reached  the  chamber  from 
which  Nydia  had  escaped.  There,  removing  the  gag, 
he  left  her  to  a  solitude  so  racked  and  terrible,  that 
out  of  Hades  its  anguish  could  scarcely  be  exceeded. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        435 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    SORROW    OF    BOON    COMPANIONS    FOR    OUR   AFFLIC- 
TIONS.  THE  DUNGEON   AND   ITS  VICTIMS. 

It  was  now  late  on  the  third  and  last  day  of  the  trial 
of  Glaucus  and  Olinthus.  A  few  hours  after  the  court 
had  broken  up  and  judgment  been  given,  a  small 
party  of  the  fashionable  youth  at  Pompeii  were  as- 
sembled round  the  fastidious  board  of  Lepidus. 

"  So  Glaucus  denies  his  crime  to  the  last  ? "  said 
Clodius. 

"  Yes ;  but  the  testimony  of  Arbaces  was  convinc- 
ing; he  saw  the  blow  given,"  answered  Lepidus. 

"  What  could  have  been  the  cause  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  priest  was  a  gloomy  and  sullen  fellow. 
He  probably  rated  Glaucus  soundly  about  his  gay  life 
and  gaming  habits,  and  ultimately  swore  he  would 
not  consent  to  his  marriage  with  lone.  High  words 
arose ;  Glaucus  seems  to  have  been  full  of  the  pas- 
sionate god,  and  struck  in  sudden  exasperation.  The 
excitement  of  wine,  the  desperation  of  abrupt  re- 
morse, brought  on  the  delirium  under  which  he  suf- 
fered for  some  days ;  and  I  can  readily  imagine,  poor 
fellow !  that,  yet  confused  by  that  delirium,  he  is  even 
now  unconscious  of  the  crime  he  committed!  Such, 
at  least,  is  the  shrewd  conjecture  of  Arbaces,  who 
seems  to  have  been  most  kind  and  forbearing  in  his 
testimony." 

"  Yes ;  he  has  made  himself  generally  popular  by 
it.  But,  in  consideration  of  these  extenuating  circum- 
stances, the  senate  should  have  relaxed  the  sentence." 

"  And  they  would  have  done  so,  but  for  the  people ; 


436        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

but  they  were  outrageous.  The  priest  had  spared  no 
pains  to  excite  them ;  and  they  imagined — the  fero- 
cious brutes ! — because  Glaucus  was  a  rich  man  and 
a  gentleman,  that  he  was  likely  to  escape ;  and  there- 
fore they  were  inveterate  against  him,  and  doubly  re- 
solved upon  his  sentence.  It  seems,  by  some  accident 
or  other,  that  he  was  never  formally  enrolled  as  a  Ro- 
man citizen ;  and  thus  the  senate  is  deprived  of  the 
power  to  resist  the  people,  though,  after  all,  there  was 
but  a  majority  of  three  against  him.  Ho !  the  Chian !  " 

"  He  looks  sadly  altered ;  but  how  composed  and 
fearless !  " 

"  Ay,  we  shall  see  if  his  firmness  will  last  over  to- 
morrow. But  what  merit  in  courage,  when  that  athe- 
istical hound,  Olinthus,  manifested  the  same  ?  " 

"  The  blasphemer !  Yes,"  said  Lepidus,  with  pious 
wrath,  "  no  wonder  that  one  of  the  decurions  was,  but 
two  days  ago,  struck  dead  by  lightning  in  a  serene 
sky.1  The  gods  feel  vengeance  against  Pompeii  while 
the  vile  desecrator  is  alive  within  its  walls." 

"  Yet  so  lenient  was  the  senate,  that  had  he  but  ex- 
pressed his  penitence,  and  scattered  a  few  grains  of 
incense  on  the  altar  of  Cybele,  he  would  have  been  let 
off.  I  doubt  whether  these  Nazarenes,  had  they  the 
state  religion,  would  be  as  tolerant  to  us,  supposing 
we  had  kicked  down  the  image  of  their  Deity,  blas- 
phemed their  rites,  and  denied  their  faith." 

"  They  give  Glaucus  one  chance,  in  consideration 
of  the  circumstances ;  they  allow  him,  against  the  lion, 
the  use  of  the  same  stilus  wherewith  he  smote  the 
priest." 

1  Pliny  says  that,  immediately  before  the  eruption  of  Vesu- 
vius, one  of  the  decuriones  municipales  was — though  the 
heaven  was  unclouded — struck  dead  by  lightning. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        437 

"  Hast  thou  seen  the  lion  ?  hast  thou  looked  at  his 
teeth  and  fangs,  and  wilt  thou  call  that  a  chance  ?  Why, 
sword  and  buckler  would  be  mere  reed  and  papyrus 
against  the  rush  of  the  mighty  beast !  No,  I  think  the 
true  mercy  has  been,  not  to  leave  him  long  in  sus- 
pense ;  and  it  was  therefore  fortunate  for  him  that  our 
benign  laws  are  slow  to  pronounce,  but  swift  to  exe- 
cute ;  and  that  the  games  of  the  amphitheatre  had 
been,  by  a  sort  of  providence,  so  long  fixed  for  to- 
morrow. He  who  awaits  death,  dies  twice." 

"  As  for  the  Atheist,"  said  Clodius,  "  he  is  to  cope 
the  grim  tiger  naked-handed.  Well,  these  combats 
are  past  betting  on.  Who  will  take  the  odds  ?  " 

A  peal  of  laughter  announced  the  ridicule  of  the 
question. 

"  Poor  Clodius ! "  said  the  host ;  "  to  lose  a  friend 
is  something;  but  to  find  no  one  to  bet  on  the  chance 
of  his  escape  is  a  worse  misfortune  to  thee." 

"  Why,  it  is  provoking ;  it  would  have  been  some 
consolation  to  him  and  to  me  to  think  he  was  useful 
to  the  last." 

"  The  people,"  said  the  grave  Pansa,  "  are  all  de- 
lighted with  the  result.  They  were  so  much  afraid 
the  sports  at  the  amphitheatre  would  go  off  without 
a  criminal  for  the  beasts :  and  now,  to  get  two  such 
criminals  is  indeed  a  joy  for  the  poor  fellows !  They 
work  hard;  they  ought  to  have  some  amusement." 

"  There  speaks  the  popular  Pansa,  who  never 
moves  without  a  string  of  clients  as  long  as  an  Indian 
triumph.  He  is  always  prating  about  the  people. 
Gods !  he  will  end  by  being  a  Gracchus !  " 

"  Certainly  I  am  no  insolent  patrician,"  said  Pansa, 
with  a  generous  air. 

"  Well,"  observed  Lepidus,  "  it  would  have  been 


438         THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

assuredly  dangerous  to  have  been  merciful  at  the  eve 
of  a  beast-fight.  If  ever  /,  though  a  Roman  bred  and 
born,  come  to  be  tried,  pray  Jupiter  there  may  be 
either  no  beasts  in  the  vivaria,  or  plenty  of  criminals 
in  the  gaol." 

"  And  pray,"  said  one  of  the  party,  "  what  has  be- 
come of  the  poor  girl  whom  Glaucus  was  to  have  mar- 
ried ?  A  widow  without  being  a  bride — that  is  hard !  " 

"  Oh,"  returned  Clodius,  "  she  is  safe  under  the 
protection  of  her  guardian,  Arbaces.  It  was  natural 
she  should  go  to  him  when  she  had  lost  both  lover 
and  brother." 

"  By  sweet  Venus,  Glaucus  was  fortunate  among 
the  women !  They  say  the  rich  Julia  was  in  love  with 
him." 

"  A  mere  fable,  my  friend,"  said  Clodius,  cox- 
combica.lly ;  "  I  was  with  her  to-day.  If  any  feeling 
of  the  sort  she  ever  conceived,  I  flatter  myself  that  / 
have  consoled  her." 

"  Hush,  gentlemen !  "  said  Pansa ;  "  do  you  not 
know  that  Clodius  is  employed  at  the  house  of  Dio- 
med  in  blowing  hard  at  the  torch?  It  begins  to  burn, 
and  will  soon  shine  bright  on  the  shrine  of  Hymen." 

"  Is  it  so?  "  said  Lepidus.  "  What!  Clodius  become 
a  married  man  ? — Fie  !  " 

"  Never  fear,"  answered  Clodius ;  "  old  Diomed  is 
delighted  at  the  notion  of  marrying  his  daughter  to  a 
nobleman,  and  will  come  down  largely  with  the  ses- 
terces. You  will  see  that  I  shall  not  lock  them  up  in 
the  atrium.  It  will  be  a  white  day  for  his  jolly  friends, 
when  Clodius  marries  an  heiress." 

"  Say  you  so  ?  "  cried  Lepidus  ;  "  come,  then,  a  full 
cup  to  the  health  of  the  fair  Julia  !  " 

While    such    was    the   conversation — one    not    dis- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        439 

cordant  to  the  tone  of  mind  common  among  the  dis- 
sipated of  that  day,  and  which  might  perhaps,  a  cen- 
tury ago,  have  found  an  echo  in  the  looser  circles  of 
Paris — while  such,  I  say,  was  the  conversation  in  the 
gaudy  triclinium  of  Lepidus,  far  different  the  scene 
which  scowled  before  the  young  Athenian. 

After  his  condemnation,  Glaucus  was  admitted  no 
more  to  the  gentle  guardianship  of  Sallust,  the  only 
friend  of  his  distress.  He  was  led  along  the  forum 
till  the  guards  stopped  at  a  small  door  by  the  side  of 
the  temple  of  Jupiter.  You  may  see  the  place  still. 
The  door  opened  in  the  centre  in  a  somewhat  singu- 
lar fashion,  revolving  round  on  its  hinges,  as  it  were, 
like  a  modern  turnstile,  so  as  only  to  leave  half  the 
threshold  open  at  the  same  time.  Through  this  nar- 
row aperture  they  thrust  the  prisoner,  placed  before 
him  a  loaf  and  a  pitcher  of  water,  and  left  him  to  dark- 
ness, and,  as  he  thought,  to  solitude.  So  sudden  had 
been  that  revolution  of  fortune  which  had  prostrated 
him  from  the  palmy  height  of  youthful  pleasure  and 
successful  love  to  the  lowest  abyss  of  ignominy,  and 
the  horror  of  a  most  bloody  death,  that  he  could 
scarcely  convince  himself  that  he  was  not  held  in  the 
meshes  of  some  fearful  dream.  His  elastic  and  glo- 
rious frame  had  triumphed  over  a  potion,  the  greater 
part  of  which  he  had  fortunately  not  drained.  He  had 
recovered  sense  and  consciousness,  but  still  a  dim  and 
misty  depression  clung  to  his  nerves  and  darkened 
his  mind.  His  natural  courage,  and  the  Greek  nobility 
of  pride,  enabled  him  to  vanquish  all  unbecoming  ap- 
prehension, and,  in  the  judgment-court,  to  face  his 
awful  lot  with  a  steady  mien  and  unquailing  eye.  But 
the  consciousness  of  innocence  scarcely  sufficed  to 
support  him  when  the  gaze  of  men  no  longer  excited 


440        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

his  haughty  valour,  and  he  was  left  to  loneliness  and 
silence.  He  felt  the  damps  of  the  dungeon  sink  chill- 
ingly into  his  enfeebled  frame.  He — the  fastidious, 
the  luxurious,  the  refined — he  who  had  hitherto 
braved  no  hardship  and  known  no  sorrow.  Beautiful 
bird  that  he  was !  why  had  he  left  his  far  and  sunny 
clime — the  olive-groves  of  his  native  hill — the  music 
of  immemorial  streams?  Why  had  he  wantoned  on 
his  glittering  plumage  amidst  these  harsh  and  un- 
genial  strangers,  dazzling  the  eye  with  his  gorgeous 
hues,  charming  the  ear  with  his  blithesome  song — 
thus  suddenly  to  be  arrested — caged  in  darkness — 
a  victim  and  a  prey — his  gay  flights  for  ever  over — 
his  hymns  of  gladness  for  ever  stilled !  The  poor 
Athenian !  his  very  faults  the  exuberance  of  a  gentle 
and  joyous  nature,  how  little  had  his  past  career  fitted 
him  for  the  trials  he  was  destined  to  undergo !  The 
hoots  of  the  mob,  amidst  whose  plaudits  he  had  so 
often  guided  his  graceful  car  and  bounding  steeds, 
still  rang  gratingly  in  his  ear.  The  cold  and  stony 
faces  of  his  former  friends  (the  co-mates  of  his  merry 
revels)  still  rose  before  his  eye.  None  now  were  by 
to  soothe,  to  sustain,  the  admired,  the  adulated 
stranger.  These  walls  opened  but  on  the  dread  arena 
of  a  violent  and  shameful  death.  And  lone!  of  her, 
too,  he  had  heard  naught;  no  encouraging  word,  no 
pitying  message ;  she,  too,  had  forsaken  him ;  she  be- 
lieved him  guilty — and  of  what  crime? — the  murder 
of  a  brother!  He  ground  his  teeth — he  groaned 
aloud — and  ever  and  anon  a  sharp  fear  shot  across 
him.  In  that  fell  and  fierce  delirium  which  had  so  un- 
accountably seized  his  soul,  which  had  so  ravaged  the 
disordered  brain,  might  he  not,  indeed,  unknowing  to 
himself,  have  committed  the  crime  of  which  he  was 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        441 

accused?  Yet,  as  the  thought  flashed  upon  him,  it 
was  as  suddenly  checked ;  for,  amidst  all  the  dark- 
ness of  the  past,  he  thought  distinctly  to  recall  the 
dim  grove  of  Cybele,  the  upward  face  of  the  pale  dead, 
the  pause  that  he  had  made  beside  the  corpse,  and  the 
sudden  shock  that  felled  him  to  the  earth.  He  felt 
convinced  of  his  innocence';  afnd  yet  who,  to  the  latest 
time,  long  after  his  mangled  remains  were  mingled 
with  the  elements,  would  believe  him  guiltless,  or  up- 
hold his  fame  ?  As  he  recalled  his  interview  with  Ar- 
baces,  and  the  causes  of  revenge  which  had  been  ex- 
cited in  the  heart  of  that  dark  and  fearful  man,  he 
could  not  but  believe  that  he  was  the  victim  of  some 
deep-laid  and  mysterious  snare — the  clue  and  train 
of  which  he  was  lost  in  attempting  to  discover:  and 
lone — Arbaces  loved  her — might  his  rival's  success  be 
founded  upon  his  ruin?  That  thought  cut  him  more 
deeply  than  all;  and  his  noble  heart  was  more  stung 
by  jealousy  than  appalled  by  fear.  Again  he  groaned 
aloud. 

A  voice  from  the  recess  of  the  darkness  answered 
that  burst  of  anguish.  "  Who,"  it  said,  "  is  my  com- 
panion in  this  awful  hour?  Athenian  Glaucus,  is  it 
thou?" 

"  So,  indeed,  they  called  me  in  mine  hour  of  for- 
tune :  they  may  have  other  names  for  me  now.  And 
thy  name,  stranger  ?  " 

"  Is  Olinthus,  thy  co-mate  in  the  prison  as  the 
trial." 

"  What !  he  whom  they  call  the  Atheist  ?  Is  it  the 
injustice  of  men  that  hath  taught  thee  to  deny  the 
providence  of  the  gods  ?  " 

"  Alas !  "  answered  Olinthus :  "  thou,  not  I,  art  the 
true  Atheist,  for  thou  deniest  the  sole  true  God — the 


442        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

unknown  One — to  whom  thy  Athenian  fathers  erected 
an  altar.  It  is  in  this  hour  that  I  know  my  God.  He 
is  with  me  in  the  dungeon;  His  smile  penetrates  the 
darkness ;  on  the  eve  of  death  my  heart  whispers  im- 
mortality, and  earth  recedes  from  me  but  to  bring  the 
weary  soul  nearer  unto  heaven." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Glaucus,  abruptly,  "  did  I  not  hear 
thy  name  coupled  with  that  of  Apaecides  in  my  trial? 
Dost  thou  believe  me  guilty  ?  " 

"  God  alone  reads  the  heart !  but  my  suspicion 
rested  not  upon  thee." 

"  On  whom,  then  ?  " 

"  Thy  accuser,  Arbaces." 

"  Ha!  thou  cheerest  me:  and  wherefore?" 

"  Because  I  know  the  man's  evil  breast,  and  he  had 
cause  to  fear  him  who  is  now  dead." 

With  that,  Olinthus  proceeded  to  inform  Glaucus  of 
those  details  which  the  reader  already  knows,  the  con- 
version of  Apaecides,  the  plan  they  had  proposed  for 
the  detection  of  the  impostures  of  the  Egyptian  priest- 
craft, and  of  the  seductions  practised  by  Arbaces  upon 
the  youthful  weakness  of  the  proselyte.  "  Therefore," 
concluded  Olinthus,  "  had  the  deceased  encountered 
Arbaces,  reviled  his  treasons,  and  threatened  detec- 
tion, the  place,  the  hour,  might  have  favoured  the 
wrath  of  the  Egyptian,  and  passion  and  craft  alike  dic- 
tated the  fatal  blow." 

"  It  must  have  been  so !  "  cried  Glaucus,  joyfully. 
"  I  am  happy." 

"  Yet  what,  O  unfortunate !  avails  to  thee  now  the 
discovery?  Thou  art  condemned  and  fated;  and  in 
thine  innocence  thou  wilt  perish." 

"  But  I  shall  know  myself  guiltless ;  and  in  my  mys- 
terious madness  I  had  fearful,  though  momentary, 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        443 

doubts.  Yet  tell  me,  man  of  a  strange  creed,  thinkest 
thou  that  for  small  errors,  or  for  ancestral  faults,  we 
are  forever  abandoned  and  accursed  by  the  powers 
above,  whatever  name  thou  allottest  to  them  ?  " 

"  God  is  just,  and  abandons  not  His  creatures  for 
their  mere  human  frailty.  God  is  merciful,  and  curses 
none  but  the  wicked  who  repent  not." 

"  Yet  it  seemeth  to  me  as  if,  in  the  divine  anger,  I 
had  been  smitten  by  a  sudden  madness,  a  supernatural 
and  solemn  frenzy,  wrought  not  by  human  means." 

"  There  are  demons  on  earth,"  answered  the  Naza- 
rene,  fearfully,  "  as  well  as  there  are  God  and  His 
Son  in  heaven ;  and  since  thou  acknowledgest  not  the 
last,  the  first  may  have  had  power  over  thee." 

Glaucus  did  not  reply,  and  there  was  a  silence  for 
some  minutes.  At  length  the  Athenian  said,  in  a 
changed,  and  soft,  and  half-hesitating  voice,  "  Chris- 
tian, believest  thou,  among  the  doctrines  of  thy  creed, 
that  the  dead  live  again — that  they  who  have  loved 
here  are  united  hereafter — that  beyond  the  grave  our 
good  name  shines  pure  from  the  mortal  mists  that 
unjustly  dim  it  in  the  gross-eyed  world — and  that  the 
streams  which  are  divided  by  the  desert  and  the  rock 
meet  in  the  solemn  Hades,  and  flow  once  more  into 
one?  " 

"  Believe  I  that,  O  Athenian  ?  No,  I  do  not  believe 
— I  know!  and  it  is  that  beautiful  and  blessed  assur- 
ance which  supports  me  now.  O  Cyllene !  "  contin- 
ued Olinthus,  passionately,  "  bride  of  my  heart !  torn 
from  me  in  the  first  month  of  our  nuptials,  shall  I  not 
see  thee  yet,  and  ere  many  days  be  past?  Welcome, 
welcome  death,  that  will  bring  me  to  heaven  and 
thee !  " 

There  was  something  in  this  sudden  burst  of  hu- 


444        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

man  affection  which  struck  a  kindred  chord  in  the 
soul  of  the  Greek.  He  felt,  for  the  first  time,  a  sym- 
pathy greater  than  mere  affliction  between  him  and 
his  companion.  He  crept  nearer  towards  Olinthus; 
for  the  Italians,  fierce  in  some  points,  were  not  un- 
necessarily cruel  in  others;  they  spared  the  separate 
cell  and  the  superfluous  chain,  and  allowed  the  vic- 
tims of  the  arena  the  sad  comfort  of  such  freedom  and 
such  companionship  as  the  prison  would  afford. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  Christian  with  holy  fervour, 
"  the  immortality  of  the  soul — the  resurrection — the 
reunion  of  the  dead — is  the  great  principle  of  our 
creed — the  great  truth  a  God  suffered  death  itself  to 
attest  and  proclaim.  No  fabled  Elysium — no  poetic 
Orcus — but  a  pure  and  radiant  heritage  of  heaven  it- 
self, is  the  portion  of  the  good." 

"  Tell  me,  then,  thy  doctrines,  and  expound  to  me 
thy  hopes,"  said  Glaucus,  earnestly. 

Olinthus  was  not  slow  to  obey  that  prayer ;  and 
there — as  oftentimes  in  the  early  ages  of  the  Chris- 
tian creed — it  was  in  the  darkness  of  the  dungeon,  and 
over  the  approach  of  death,  that  the  dawning  _Gospel 
shed  its  soft  and  consecrating  rays. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A   CHANGE   FOR  GLAUCUS. 

The  hours  passed  in  lingering  torture  over  the  head 
of  Nydia  from  the  time  in  which  she  had  been  re- 
placed in  her  cell. 

Sosia,  as  if  afraid  he  should  be  again  outwitted,  had 
refrained  from  visiting  her  until  late  in  the  morning 
of  the  following  day,  and  then  he  but  thrust  in  the 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        445 

periodical  basket  of  food  and  wine,  and  hastily  re- 
closed  the  door.  That  day  rolled  on,  and  Nydia  felt 
herself  pent — barred — inexorably  confined,  when  that 
day  was  the  judgment-day  of  Glaucus,  and  when  her 
release  would  have  saved  him !  Yet  knowing,  al- 
most impossible  as  seemed  her  escape,  that  the  sole 
chance  for  the  life  of  Glaucus  rested  on  her,  this 
young  girl,  frail,  passionate,  and  acutely  susceptible 
as  she  was — resolved  not  to  give  way  to  a  despair 
that  would  disable  her  trom  seizing  whatever  oppor- 
tunity might  occur.  She  kept  her  senses  whenever, 
beneath  the  whirl  of  intolerable  thought,  they  reeled 
and  tottered;  nay,  she  took  food  and  wine  that  she 
might  sustain  her  strength — that  she  might  be  -pre- 
pared ! 

She  revolved  scheme  after  scheme  of  escape,  and 
was  forced  to  dismiss  all.  Yet  Sosia  was  her  only 
hope,  the  only  instrument  with  which  she  could  tam- 
per. He  had  been  superstitious  in  the  desire  of  as- 
certaining whether  he  could  eventually  purchase  his 
freedom.  Blessed  gods !  might  he  not  be  won  by 
the  bribe  of  freedom  itself?  was  she  not  nearly  rich 
enough  to  purchase  it?  Her  slender  arms  were  cov- 
ered with  bracelets,  the  presents  of  lone ;  and  on  her 
neck  she  yet  wore  that  very  chain  which,  it  may  be 
remembered,  had  occasioned  her  jealous  quarrel  with 
Glaucus,  and  which  she  had  afterwards  promised 
vainly  to  wear  for  ever.  She  waited  burningly  till 
Sosia  should  again  appear;  but  as  hour  after  hour 
passed,  and  he  came  not,  she  grew  impatient.  Every 
nerve  beat  with  fever;  she  could  endure  the  solitude 
no  longer — she  groaned,  she  shrieked  aloud — she 
beat  herself  against  the  door.  Her  cries  echoed  along 
the  hall,  and  Sosia,  in  peevish  anger,  hastened  to  see 


446        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

what'  was  the  matter,  and  silence  his  prisoner  if  pos- 
sible. 

"  Ho !  ho !  what  is  this  ?  "  said  he,  surlily.  "  Young 
slave,  if  thou  screamest  out  thus,  we  must  gag  thee 
again.  My  shoulders  will  smart  for  it,  if  thou  art 
heard  by  my  master." 

"  Kind  Sosia,  chide  me  not — I  cannot  endure  to  be 
so  long  alone,"  answered  Nydia ;  "  the  solitude  ap- 
pals me.  Sit  with  me,  I  pray,  a  little  while.  Nay, 
fear  not  that  I  should  attempt  to  escape;  place  thy 
seat  before  the  door.  Keep  thine  eye  on  me — I  will 
not  stir  from  this  spot." 

Sosia,  who  was  a  considerable  gossip  himself,  was 
moved  by  this  address.  He  pitied  one  who  had 
nobody  to  talk  with — it  was  his  case  too;  he  pitied — 
and  resolved  to  relieve  himself.  He  took  the  hint  of 
Nydia,  placed  a  stool  before  the  door,  leant  his  back 
against  it,  and  replied, — 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  wish  to  be  churlish ;  and  so  far 
as  a  little  innocent  chat  goes,  I  have  no  objection  to 
indulge  you.  But  mind,  no  tricks — no  more  conjur- 
ing!" 

"No,  no;  tell  me,  dear  Sosia,  what  is  the  hour?" 

"  It  is  already  evening — the  goats  are  going  home." 

"  O  gods !  how  went  the  trial  ?  " 

"  Both  condemned !  " 

Nydia  repressed  the  shriek.  "  Well — well,  I 
thought  it  would  be  so.  When  do  they  suffer?  " 

"  To-morrow,  in  the  amphitheatre.  If  it  were  not 
for  thee,  little  wretch,  I  should  be  allowed  to  go  with 
the  rest  and  see  it." 

Nydia  leant  back  for  some  moments.  Nature  could 
endure  no  more — she  had  fainted  away.  But  Sosia 
did  not  perceive  it,  for  it  was  the  dusk  of  eve,  and  he 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        447 

was  full  of  his  own  privations.  He  went  on  lamenting 
the  loss  of  so  delightful  a  show,  and  accusing  the  in- 
justice of  Arbaces  for  singling  him  out  from  all  his 
fellows  to  be  converted  into  a  gaoler ;  and  ere  he  had 
half  finished,  Nydia,  with  a  deep  sigh,  recovered  the 
sense  of  life. 

"  Thou  sighest,  blind  one,  at  my  loss !  Well,  that 
is  some  comfort.  So  long  as  you  acknowledge  how 
much  you  cost  me,  I  will  endeavour  not  to  grumble. 
It  is  hard  to  be  ill-treateJ,  and  yet  not  pitied." 

"  Sosia,  how  much  dost  thou  require  to  make  up  the 
purchase  of  thy  freedom  ?  " 

"  How  much  ?  Why,  about  two  thousand  ses- 
terces." 

"  The  gods  be  praised !  not  more  ?  Seest  thou  these 
bracelets  and  this  chain  ?  They  are  well  worth  double 
that  sum.  I  will  give  them  thee  if " 

"  Tempt  me  not :  I  cannot  release  thee.  Arbaces  is 
a  severe  and  awful  master.  Who  knows  but  I  might 
feed  the  fishes  of  the  Sarnus  ?  Alas !  all  the  sesterces 
in  the  world  would  not  buy  me  back  into  life.  Better 
a  live  dog  than  a  dead  lion." 

"  Sosia,  thy  freedom !  Think  well !  If  thou  wilt  let 
me  out  only  for  one  little  hour ! — let  me  out  at  mid- 
night— I  will  return  ere  to-morrow's  dawn ;  nay,  thou 
canst  go  with  me." 

"  No,"  said  Sosia,  sturdily,  "  a  slave  once  disobeyed 
Arbaces,  and  he  was  never  more  heard  of." 

"  But  the  law  gives  a  master  no  power  over  the  life 
of  a  slave." 

"  The  law  is  very  obliging,  but  more  polite  than 
efficient.  I  know  that  Arbaces  always  gets  the  law  on 
his  side.  Besides,  if  I  am  once  dead,  what  law  can 
bring  me  to  life  again  ?  " 


448        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Nydia  wrung  her  hands.  "  Is  there  no  hope,  then  ?  " 
said  she,  convulsively. 

"  None  of  escape  till  Arbaces  gives  the  word." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Nydia,  quickly,  "  thou  wilt  not, 
at  least,  refuse  to  take  a  letter  for  me:  thy  master 
cannot  kill  thee  for  that." 

"  To  whom?  " 

"  The  praetor." 

"  To  a  magistrate  ?  No — not  I.  I  should  be  made 
a  witness  in  court,  for  what  I  know ;  and  the  way  they 
cross-examine  the  slaves  is  by  the  torture." 

"  Pardon :  I  meant  not  the  praetor — it  was  a  word 
that  escaped  me  unawares ;  I  meant  quite  another  per- 
son— the  gay  Sallust." 

"  Oh !  and  what  want  you  with  him?  " 

"  Glaucus  was  my  master ;  he  purchased  me  from  a 
cruel  lord.  He  alone  has  been  kind  to  me.  He  is  to 
die.  I  shall  never  live  happily  if  I  cannot,  in  this  hour 
of  trial  and  doom,  let  him  know  that  one  heart  is  grate- 
ful to  him.  Sallust  is  his  friend;  he  will  convey  my 
message." 

"  I  am  sure  he  will  do  no  such  thing.  Glaucus  will 
have  enough  to  think  of  between  this  and  to-morrow 
without  troubling  his  head  about  a  blind  girl." 

"  Man,"  said  Nydia,  rising,  "  wilt  thou  become  free  ? 
Thou  hast  the  offer  in  thy  power ;  to-morrow  it  will  be 
too  late.  Never  was  freedom  more  cheaply  purchased. 
Thou  canst  easily  and  unmissed  leave  home :  less  than 
half  an  hour  will  suffice  for  thine  absence.  And  for 
such  a  trifle  wilt  thou  refuse  liberty  ?  " 

Sosia  was  greatly  moved.  It  was  true  that  the  re- 
quest was  remarkably  silly ;  but  what  was  that  to  him  ? 
So  much  the  better.  He  could  lock  the  door  on  Nydia, 
and,  if  Arbaces  should  learn  his  absence,  the  offence 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        449 

was  venial,  and  would  merit  but  a  reprimand.  Yet, 
should  Nydia's  letter  contain  something  more  than 
what  she  had  said — should  it  speak  of  her  imprison- 
ment, as  he  shrewdly  conjectured  it  would  do — what 
then !  It  need  never  be  known  to  Arbaces  that  he  had 
carried  the  letter.  At  the  worst  the  bribe  was  enor- 
mous— the  risk  light — the  temptation  irresistible.  He 
hesitated  no  longer — he  assented  to  the  proposal. 

"  Give  me  the  trinkets,  and  I  will  take  the  letter.  Yet 
stay — thou  art  a  slave — thou  hast  no  right  to  these  or- 
naments— they  are  thy  master's." 

"  They  were  the  gifts  of  Glaucus ;  he  is  my  master. 
What  chance  hath  he  to  claim  them?  Who  else  will 
know  they  are  in  my  possession  ?  " 

"  Enough — I  will  bring  thee  the  papyrus." 
"  No,  not  papyrus — a  tablet  of  wax  and  a  stilus." 
Nydia,  as  the  reader  will  have  seen,  was  born  of 
gentle  parents.  They  had  done  all  to  lighten  her 
calamity,  and  her  quick  intellect  seconded  their  ex- 
ertions. Despite  her  blindness  she  had  therefore  ac- 
quired in  childhood,  though  imperfectly,  the  art  to 
write  with  a  sharp  stilus  upon  waxen  tablets,  in  which 
her  exquisite  sense  of  touch  came  to  her  aid.  When 
the  tablets  were  brought  to  her,  she  thus  painfully 
traced  some  words  in  Greek,  the  language  of  her  child- 
hood, and  which  almost  every  Italian  of  the  higher 
ranks  was  then  supposed  to  know.  She  carefully 
wound  round  the  epistle  the  protecting  thread,  and 
covered  its  knot  with  wax ;  and  ere  she  placed  it  in  the 
hands  of  Sosia,  she  thus  addressed  him : — 

"  Sosia,  I  am  blind  and  in  prison.    Thou  mayst  think 

to  deceive  me — thou  mayst  pretend  only  to  take  this 

letter  to  Sallust — thou  mayst  not  fulfil  thy  charge: 

but  here  I  solemnly  dedicate  thy  head  to  vengeance, 

29 


450        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

thy  soul  to  the  infernal  powers,  if  thou  wrongest  thy 
trust;  and  I  call  upon  thee  to  place  thy  right  hand  of 
faith  in  mine,  and  repeat  after  me  these  words : — '  By 
the  ground  on  which  we  stand — by  the  elements 
which  contain  life  and  can  curse  life — by  Orcus,  the 
all-avenging — by  the  Olympian  Jupiter,  the  all-seeing 
— I  swear  that  I  will  honestly  discharge  my  trust,  and 
faithfully  deliver  into  the  hands  of  Sallust  this  letter! 
And  if  I  perjure  myself  in  this  oath,  may  the  full  curses 
of  heaven  and  hell  be  wreaked  upon  me ! '  Enough ! — 
I  trust  thee — take  thy  reward.  It  is  already  dark — de- 
part at  once." 

"  Thou  art  a  strange  girl,  and  thou  hast  frightened 
me  terribly ;  but  it  is  all  very  natural :  and  if  Sallust  is 
to  be  found,  I  give  him  this  letter  as  I  have  sworn.  By 
my  faith,  I  may  have  my  little  peccadilloes !  but  per- 
jury— no!  I  leave  that  to  my  betters." 

With  this  Sosia  withdrew,  carefully  passing  the 
heavy  bolt  athwart  Nydia's  door — carefully  locking  its 
wards :  and  hanging  the  key  to  his  girdle,  he  retired  to 
his  own  den,  enveloped  himself  from  head  to  foot  in  a 
huge  disguising  cloak,  and  slipped  out  by  the  back  way 
undisturbed  and  unseen. 

The  streets  were  thin  and  empty.  He  soon  gained 
the  house  of  Sallust.  The  porter  bade  him  leave  his 
letter,  and  be  gone;  for  Sallust  was  so  grieved  at  the 
condemnation  of  Glaucus,  that  he  could  not  on  any  ac- 
count be  disturbed. 

"  Nevertheless,  I  have  sworn  to  give  this  letter  into 
his  own  hands — do  so  I  must !  "  And  Sosia,  well 
knowing  by  experience  that  Cerberus  loves  a  sop, 
thrust  some  half  a  dozen  sesterces  into  the  hand  of  the 
porter. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  latter,  relenting,  "  you  may 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        451 

enter  if  you  will ;  but,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Sallust  is 
drinking  himself  out  of  his  grief.  It  is  his  way  when 
anything  disturbs  him.  He  orders  a  capital  supper, 
the  best  wine,  and  does  not  give  over  till  everything  is 
out  of  his  head — but  the  liquor." 

"  An  excellent  plan — excellent !  Ah,  w  hat  it  is  to 
be  rich!  If  I  were  Sallust,  I  would  have  some  grief 
or  another  every  day.  But  just  say  a  kind  word  for 
me  with  the  atriensis — I  see  him  coming." 

Sallust  was  too  sad  to  receive  company ;  he  was  too 
sad,  also,  to  drink  alone;  so,  as  was  his  wont,  he  ad- 
mitted his  favourite  freedman  to  his  entertainment, 
and  a  stranger  banquet  never  was  held.  For  ever  and 
anon,  the  kind-hearted  epicure  sighed,  whimpered, 
wept  outright,  and  then  turned  with  double  zest  to 
some  new  dish  or  his  refilled  goblet. 

"  My  good  fellow,"  said  he  to  his  companion,  "  it 
was  a  most  awful  judgment — heigho ! — it  is  not  bad 
that  kid,  eh?  Poor,  dear  Glaucus! — what  a  jaw  the 
lion  has  too !  Ah,  ah,  ah  !  " 

And  Sallust  sobbed  loudly — the  fit  was  stopped  by 
a  counter-action  of  hiccups. 

"  Take  a  cup  of  wine,"  said  the  freedman. 

"  A  thought  too  cold :  but  then  how  cold  Glaucus 
must  be !  Shut  up  the  house  to-morrow — not  a  slave 
shall  stir  forth — none  of  my  people  shall  honour  that 
cursed  arena — No,  no !  " 

"  Taste  the  Falernian — your  grief  distracts  you.  By 
the  gods  it  does — a  piece  of  that  cheesecake." 

It  was  at  this  auspicious  moment  that  Sosia  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  presence  of  the  disconsolate  carouser. 

"  Ho — what  art  thou  ?  " 

"  Merely  a  messenger  to  Sallust.  I  give  him  this 
billet  from  a  young  female.  There  is  no  answer  that  I 
know  of.  May  I  withdraw  ?  " 


452        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Thus  said  the  discreet  Sosia,  keeping  his  face 
muffled  in  his  cloak,  and  speaking  with  a  feigned  voice, 
so  that  he  might  not  hereafter  be  recognised. 

"  By  the  gods — a  pimp !  Unfeeling .  wretch ! — do 
you  not  see  my  sorrows  ?  Go ! — and  the  curses  of  Pan- 
darus  with  you !  " 

Sosia  lost  not  a  moment  in  retiring. 

"  Will  you  read  the  letter,  Sallust  ?  "  said  the  f reed- 
man. 

"Letter! — which  letter?"  said  the  epicure,  reeling, 
for  he  began  to  see  double.  "  A  curse  on  these  wenches, 
say  I!  Am  I  a  man  to  think  of — (hiccup) — pleasure, 
when — when- — my  friend  is  going  to  be  eat  up  ?  " 

"  Eat  another  tartlet." 

"  No,  no !     My  grief  chokes  me  !  " 

"  Take  him  to  bed,"  said  the  freedman ;  and,  Sal- 
lust's  head  now  declining  fairly  on  his  breast,  they 
bore  him  off  to  his  cubiculum,  still  muttering  lamenta- 
tions for  Glaucus,  and  imprecations  on  the  unfeeling 
overtures  of  ladies  of  pleasure. 

Meanwhile  Sosia  strode  indignantly  homeward. 
"  Pimp,  indeed !  "  quoth  he  to  himself.  "  Pimp !  a 
scurvy-tongued  fellow  that  Sallust!  Had  I  been 
called  knave,  or  thief,  I  could  have  forgiven  it;  but 
pimp !  Faugh !  there  is  something  in  the  word  which 
the  toughest  stomach  in  the  world  would  rise  against. 
A  knave  is  a  knave  for  his  own  pleasure,  and  a  thief/ 
a  thief  for  his  own  profit ;  and  there  is  something  hon- 
ourable and  philosophical  in  being  a  rascal  for  one's 
own  sake :  that  is  doing  things  upon  principle — upon  a 
grand  scale.  But  a  pimp  is  a  thing  that  defiles  itself  for 
another — a  pipkin  that  is  put  on  the  fire  for  another 
man's  pottage!  a  napkin  that  every  guest  wipes  his 
hands  upon!  and  the  scullion  says,  'by  your  leave,' 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        453 

too.  A  pimp !  I  would  rather  he  had  called  me  par- 
ricide! But  the  man  was  drunk,  and  did  not  know 
what  he  said ;  and,  besides,  I  disguised  myself.  Had 
he  seen  it  had  been  Sosia  who  addressed  him,  it  would 
have  been  '  honest  Sosia ! '  and  '  worthy  man ! '  I  war- 
rant. Nevertheless,  the  trinkets  have  been  won  easily 
— that's  some  comfort!  and,  O  goddess  Feronia!  I 
shall  be  a  freedman  soon !  and  then  I  should  like  to  see 
who'll  call  me  pimp ! — unless,  indeed,  he  pay  me  pretty 
handsomely  for  it !  " 

While  Sosia  was  soliloquising  in  this  high-minded 
and  generous  vein,  his  path  lay  along  a  narrow  lane 
that  led  towards  the  amphitheatre  and  its  adjacent  pal- 
aces. Suddenly,  as  he  turned  a  sharp  corner  he  found 
himself  in  the  midst  of  a  considerable  crowd.  Men, 
women,  and  children,  all  were  hurrying  or  laughing, 
talking,  gesticulating ;  and,  ere  he  was  aware  of  it,  the 
worthy  Sosia  was  borne  away  with  the  noisy  stream. 

"  What  now  ?  "  he  asked  of  his  nearest  neighbour,  a 
young  artificer,  "  what  now  ?  Where  are  all  these  good 
folks  thronging?  Does  any  rich  patron  give  away 
alms  or  viands  to-night  ?  " 

"  Not  so,  man — better  still,"  replied  the  artificer ; 
"  the  noble  Pansa — the  people's  friend — has  granted 
the  public  leave  to  see  the  beasts  in  their  vivaria.  By 
Hercules !  they  will  not  be  seen  so  safely  by  some  per- 
sons to-morrow." 

"  'Tis  a  pretty  sight,"  said  the  slave,  yielding  to  the 
throng  that  impelled  him  onward ;  "  and  since  I  may 
not  go  to  the  sports  to-morrow,  I  may  as  well  take  a 
peep  at  the  beasts  to-night." 

"  You  will  do  well,"  returned  his  new  acquaintance, 
"  a  lion  and  a  tiger  are  not  to  be  seen  at  Pompeii  every 
day." 


454        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  crowd  had  now  entered  a  broken  and  wide  space 
of  ground,  on  which,  as  it  was  only  lighted  scantily 
and  from  a  distance,  the  press  became  dangerous  to 
those  whose  limbs  and  shoulders  were  not  fitted  for  a 
mob.  Nevertheless,  the  women  especially — many  of 
them  with  children  in  their  arms,  or  even  at  the  breast 
— were  the  most  resolute  in  forcing  their  way;  and 
their  shrill  exclamations  of  complaint  or  objurga- 
tion were  heard  loud  above  the  more  jovial  and  mas- 
culine voices.  Yet,  amidst  them  was  a  young  and  girl- 
ish voice,  that  appeared  to  come  from  one  too  happy  in 
her  excitement  to  be  alive  to  the  inconvenience  of  the 
crowd. 

"  Aha !  "  cried  the  young  woman,  to  some  of  her 
companions.  "  I  always  told  you  so ;  I  always  said  we 
should  have  a  man  for  the  lion ;  and  now  we  have  one 
for  the  tiger  too !  I  wish  to-morrow  were  come !  " 

"  Ho !  ho !  for  the  merry,  merry  show, 
With  a  forest  of  faces  in  every  row ! 
Lo,  the  swordsmen,  bold  as  the  son  of  Alcmena, 
Sweep,  side  by  side,  o'er  the  hush'd  arena ; 
Talk  while  you  may — you  will  hold  your  breath 
When  they  meet  in  the  grasp  of  the  glowing  death. 
Tramp,  tramp,  how  gaily  they  go ! 
Ho !  ho !  for  the  merry,  merry  show !  " 

"  A  jolly  girl !  "  said  Sosia. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  young  artificer,  a  curly-headed, 
handsome  youth.  "  Yes,"  replied  he,  enviously ;  "  the 
women  love  a  gladiator.  If  I  had  been  a  slave,  I  would 
have  soon  found  my  schoolmaster  in  the  lanista !  " 

"  Would  you  indeed  ? "  said  Sosia,  with  a  sneer. 
"  Peoples  notions  differ." 

The  crowd  had  now  arrived  at  the  place  of  destina- 
tion ;  but  as  the  cell  in  which  the  wild  beasts  were  con- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        455 

fined  was  extremely  small  and  narrow,  tenfold  more 
vehement  than  it  hitherto  had  been  was  the  rush  of 
the  aspirants  to  obtain  admittance.  Two  of  the  officers 
of  the  amphitheatre,  placed  at  the  entrance,  very 
wisely  mitigated  the  evil  by  dispensing  to  the  foremost 
only  a  limited  number  of  tickets  at  a  time,  and  admit- 
ting no  new  visitors  till  their  predecessors  had  sated 
their  curiosity.  Sosia,  who  was  a  tolerably  stout  fel- 
low, and  not  troubled  with  any  remarkable  scruples  of 
diffidence  or  good-breeding,  contrived  to  be  among 
the  first  of  the  initiated. 

Separated  from  his  companion  the  artificer,  Sosia 
found  himself  in  a  narrow  cell  of  oppressive  heat  and 
atmosphere,  and  lighted  by  several  rank  and  flaring 
torches. 

The  animals,  usually  kept  in  different  vivaria,  or 
dens,  were  now,  for  the  greater  entertainment  of  the. 
visitors,  placed  in  one,  but  equally  indeed  divided  from 
each  other  by  strong  cages  protected  by  iron  bars. 

There  they  were,  the  fell  and  grim  wanderers  of  the 
desert,  who  have  now  become  almost  the  principal 
agents  of  this  story.  The  lion,  who,  as  being  the  more 
gentle  by  nature  than  his  fellow-beast,  had  been  more 
incited  to  ferocity  by  hunger,  stalked  restlessly  and 
fiercely  to  and  fro  his  narrow  confines:  his  eyes  were 
lurid  with  rage  and  famine :  and  as,  every  now  and 
then,  he  paused  and  glared  around,  the  spectators 
fearfully  pressed  backward,  and  drew  their  breath 
more  quickly.  But  the  tiger  lay  quiet  and  extended  at 
full  length  in  his  cage,  and  only  by  an  occasional  play 
of  his  tail,  or  a  long  impatient  yawn,  testified  any  emo- 
tion at  his  confinement,  or  at  the  crowd  which  hon- 
oured him  with  their  presence. 

"  I  have  seen  no  fiercer  beast  than  yon  lion  even  in 


456        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

the  amphitheatre  of  Rome,"  said  a  gigantic  and  sinewy 
fellow  who  stood  at  the  right  hand  of  Sosia. 

"  I  feel  humbled  when  I  look  at  his  limbs,"  replied, 
at  the  left  of  Sosia,  a  slighter  and  younger  figure,  with 
his  arms  folded  on  his  breast. 

The  slave  looked  first  at  one,  and  then  at  the  other. 
"  Virtus  in  medio! — virtue  is  ever  in  the  middle!  "  mut- 
tered he  to  himself ;  "  a  goodly  neighbourhood  for 
thee,  Sosia — a  gladiator  on  each  side !  " 

"  That  is  well  said,  Lydon,"  returned  the  huger 
gladiator ;  "  I  feel  the  same." 

"  And  to  think,"  observed  Lydon,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
feeling,  "  to  think  that  the  noble  Greek,  he  whom  we 
saw  but  a  day  or  two  since  before  us,  so  full  of  youth, 
and  health,  and  joyousness,  is  to  feast  yon  monster !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  growled  Niger,  savagely ;  "  many  an 
honest  gladiator  has  been  compelled  to  a  like  combat 
by  the  emperor — why  not  a  wealthy  murderer  by  the 
law?" 

Lydon  sighed,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  remained 
silent.  Meanwhile  the  common  gazers  listened  with 
staring  eyes  and  lips  apart:  the  gladiators  were  ob- 
jects of  interest  as  well  as  the  beasts — they  were  ani- 
mals of  the  same  species ;  so  the  crowd  glanced  from 
one  to  the  other — the  men  and  the  brutes : — whispering 
their  comments  and  anticipating  the  morrow. 

"  Well !  "  said  Lydon,  turning  away,  "  I  thank  the 
gods  that  it  is  not  the  lion  or  the  tiger  /  am  to  contend 
with ;  even  you,  Niger,  are  a  gentler  combatant  than 
they." 

"  But  equally  dangerous,"  said  the  gladiator  with  a 
fierce  laugh;  and  the  bystanders,  admiring  his  vast 
limbs  and  ferocious  countenance,  laughed  too. 

:i  That  as  it  may  be,"  answered  Lydon,  carelessly,  as 
he  pressed  through  the  throng  and  quitted  the  den. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        457 

"  I  may  as  well  take  advantage  of  his  shoulders," 
thought  the  prudent  Sosia,  hastening  to  follow  him: 
"  the  crowd  always  give  way  to  a  gladiator,  so  I  will 
keep  close  behind,  and  come  in  for  a  share  of  his  con- 
sequence." 

The  son  of  Medon  strode  quickly  through  the  mob, 
many  of  whom  recognised  his  features  and  profession. 

"  That  is  young  Lydon,  a  brave  fellow ;  he  fights 
to-morrow,"  said  one. 

"  Ah !  I  have  a  bet  on  him,"  said  another ;  "  see  how 
firmly  he  walks !  " 

"  Good  luck  to  thee,  Lydon !  "  said  a  third. 

"  Lydon,  you  have  my  wishes,"  half  whispered  a 
fourth,  smiling  (a  comely  woman  of  the  middle  class) 
— "  and  if  you  win,  why,  you  may  hear  more  of  me." 

"  A  handsome  man,  by  Venus !  "  cried  a  fifth,  who 
was  a  girl  scarce  in  her  teens. 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Sosia,  gravely  taking  the 
compliment  to  himself. 

However  strong  the  purer  motives  of  Lydon,  and 
certain  though  it  be  that  he  would  never  have  entered 
so  bloody  a  calling  but  from  the  hope  of  obtaining  his 
father's  freedom,  he  was  not  altogether  unmoved  by 
the  notice  he  excited.  He  forgot  that  the  voices  now 
raised  in  commendation  might,  on  the  morrow,  shout 
over  his  death-pangs.  By  nature  fierce  and  reckless, 
as  well  as  generous  and  warm-hearted,  he  was  already 
imbued  with  the  pride  of  a  profession  that  he  fancied 
he  disdained,  and  affected  by  the  influence  of  a  com- 
panionship that  in  reality  he  loathed.  He  saw  him- 
self now  a  man  of  importance;  his  step  grew  yet 
lighter,  and  his  mien  more  elate. 

"  Niger,"  said  he  turning  suddenly,  as  he  had  now 
threaded  the  crowd ;  "  we  have  often  quarrelled ;  we 


458        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

are  not  matched  against  each  other,  but  one  of  us,  at 
least,  may  reasonably  expect  to  fall — give  us  thy  hand." 

"  Most  readily,"  said  Sosia,  extending  his  palm. 

"  Ha !  what  fool  is  this  ?  Why,  I  thought  Niger  was 
at  my  heels !  " 

"  I  forgive  the  mistake,"  replied  Sosia,  condescend- 
ingly ;  "  don't  mention  it ;  the  error  was  easy — I  and 
Niger  are  somewhat  of  the  same  build." 

"  Ha !  ha !  that  is  excellent !  Niger  would  have  slit 
thy  throat  had  he  heard  thee !  " 

"  You  gentlemen  of  the  arena  have  a  most  disagree- 
able mode  of  talking,"  said  Sosia :  "  let  us  change  the 
conversation." 

"  yah!  vah!  "  said  Lydon,  impatiently;  "  I  am  in  no 
humour  to  converse  with  thee !  " 

"  Why,  truly,"  returned  the  slave,  "  you  must  have 
serious  thoughts  enough  to  occupy  your  mind :  to-mor- 
row is,  I  think,  your  first  essay  in  the  arena.  Well,  I 
am  sure  you  will  die  bravely." 

"  May  thy  words  fall  on  thine  own  head !  "  said  Ly- 
don, superstitiously,  for  he  by  no  means  liked  the 
blessing  of  Sosia.  "  Die!  No — I  trust  my  hour  is  not 
yet  come." 

"  He  who  plays  at  dice  with  death  must  expect  the 
dog's  throw,"  replied  Sosia,  maliciously.  "  But  you 
are  a  strong  fellow,  and  I  wish  you  all  imaginable  luck ; 
and  so,  vale! " 

With  that  the  slave  turned  on  his  heel,  and  took  his 
way  homeward. 

"  I  trust  the  rogue's  words  are  not  ominous,"  said 
Lydon,  musingly.  "  In  my  zeal  for  my  father's  lib- 
erty, and  my  confidence  in  my  own  thews  and  sinews, 
I  have  not  contemplated  the  possibility  of  death.  My 
poor  father!  I  am  thy  only  son! — if  I  were  to 
fall " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        459 

As  the  thought  crossed  him,  the  gladiator  strode  on 
with  a  more  rapid  and  restless  pace,  when  suddenly,  in 
an  opposite  street,  he  beheld  the  very  object  of  his 
thoughts.  Leaning  on  his  stick,  his  form  bent  by  care 
and  age,  his  eyes  downcast,  and  his  steps  trembling, 
the  grey-haired  Medon  slowly  approached  towards  the 
gladiator.  Lydon  paused  a  moment:  he  divined  at 
once  the  cause  that  brought  forth  the  old  man  at  that 
late  hour. 

"  Be  sure,  it  is  I  whom  he  seeks,"  thought  he ;  "  he  is 
horror-struck  at  the  condemnation  of  Olinthus — he 
more  than  ever  esteems  the  arena  criminal  and  hateful 
— he  comes  again  to  dissuade  me  from  the  contest.  I 
must  shun  him — I  cannot  brook  his  prayers — his 
tears." 

These  thoughts,  so  long  to  recite,  flashed  across  the 
young  man  like  lightning.  He  turned  abruptly  and 
fled  swiftly  in  an  opposite  direction.  He  paused  not 
till,  almost  spent  and  breathless,  he  found  himself  on 
the  summit  of  a  small  acclivity  which  overlooked  the 
most  gay  and  splendid  part  of  that  miniature  city; 
and  as  he  there  paused,  and  gazed  along  the  tranquil 
streets  glittering  in  the  rays  of  the  moon  (which  had 
just  arisen,  and  brought  partially  and  picturesquely 
into  light  the  crowd  around  the  amphitheatre  at  a  dis- 
tance, murmuring,  and  swaying  to  and  fro),  the  in- 
fluence of  the  scene  affected  him,  rude  and  unimagi- 
native though  his  nature.  He  sat  himself  down  to  rest 
upon  the  steps  of  a  deserted  portico,  and  felt  the  calm 
of  the  hour  quiet  and  restore  him.  Opposite  and  near 
at  hand,  the  lights  gleamed  from  a  palace  in  which  the 
master  now  held  his  revels.  The  doors  were  open  for 
coolness,  and  the  gladiator  beheld  the  numerous  and 


460        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

festive  group  gathered  round  the  tables  in  the  atrium ;  * 
while  behind  them,  closing  the  long  vista  of  the  il- 
lumined rooms  beyond,  the  spray  of  the  distant  foun- 
tain sparkled  in  the  moonbeams.  There,  the  garlands 
wreathed  around  the  columns  of  the  hall — there, 
gleamed  still  and  frequent  the  marble  statue — there, 
amidst  peals  of  jocund  laughter,  rose  the  music  and 
the  lay. 

EPICUREAN   SONG 

"  Away  with  your  stories  of  Hades, 

Which  the  Flamen  has  forged  to  affright  us, — 
We  laugh  at  your  three  Maiden  Ladies, 
Your  fates,  and  your  sullen  Cocytus. 

"  Poor  Jove  has  a  troublesome  life,  sir, 

Could  we  credit  your  tales  of  his  portals — 
In  shutting  his  ears  on  his  wife,  sir, 
And  opening  his  eyes  upon  mortals. 

"  Oh,  blest  be  the  bright  Epicurus ! 

Who  taught  us  to  laugh  at  such  fables; 
On  Hades  they  wanted  to  moor  us, 
And  his  hand  cut  the  terrible  cables. 

"  If,  then,  there's  a  Jove  or  a  Juno, 

They  vex  not  their  heads  about  us,  man ; 
Besides,  if  they  did,  I  and  you  know 
'Tis  the  life  of  a  god  to  live  thus,  man ! 

"  What !  think  you  the  gods  place  their  bliss — eh  ? — 

In  playing  the  spy  on  a  sinner? 
In  counting  the  girls  that  we  kiss,  eh? 
Or  the  cups  that  we  empty  at  dinner? 

"Content  with  the  soft  lips  that  love  us, 

This  music,  this  wine,  and  this  mirth,  boys, 
We  care  not  for  gods  up  above  us, — 
We  know  there's  no  god  for  this  earth,  boys !  " 

1  In  the  atrium,  as  I  have  elsewhere  observed,  a  larger  party 
of  guests  than  ordinary  was  frequently  entertained. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        461 

While  Lydon's  piety  (which,  accommodating  as  it 
might  be,  was  in  no  slight  degree  disturbed  by  these 
verses,  which  embodied  the  fashionable  philosophy  of 
the  day)  slowly  recovered  itself  from  the  shock  it  had 
received,  a  small  party  of  men,  in  plain  garments  and 
of  the  middle  class,  passed  by  his  resting-place.  They 
were  in  earnest  conversation,  and  did  not  seem  to  no- 
tice or  heed  the  gladiator  as  they  moved  on. 

"  O  horror  on  horrors !  "  said  one ;  "  Olinthus  is 
snatched  from  us !  our  right  arm  is  lopped  away ! 
When  will  Christ  descend  to  protect  His  own  ?  " 

"  Can  human  atrocity  go  farther  ?  "  said  another : 
"  to  sentence  an  innocent  man  to  the  same  arena  as  a 
murderer!  But  let  us  not  despair;  the  thunder  of 
Sinai  may  yet  be  heard,  and  the  Lord  preserve  His 
saint.  '  The  fool  has  said  in  his  heart,  There  is  no 
God.'  " 

At  that  moment  out  broke  again,  from  the  illumined 
palace,  the  burden  of  the  revellers'  song : — 

"  We  care  not  for  gods  up  above  us, — 

We  know  there's  no  god  for  this  earth,  boys !  "  x 

Ere  the  words  died  away,  the  Nazarenes,  moved  by 
sudden  indignation,  caught  up  the  echo,  and,  in  the 
words  of  one  of  their  favourite  hymns.,  shouted  aloud — 

THE  WARNING   HYMN   OF   THE   NAZARENES 

"  Around — about — for  ever  near  thee, 
God — OUR  GOD — shall  mark  and  hear  thee ! 
On  His  car  of  storm  He  sweeps ! 
Bow,  ye  heavens,  and  shrink,  ye  deeps ! 
Woe  to  the  proud  ones  who  defy  Him ! — 
Woe  to  the  dreamers  who  deny  Him ! 

Woe  to  the  wicked,  woe ! 

1  See  note  (a)  at  the  end. 


462        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  proud  stars  shall  fail — 
The  sun  shall  grow  pale — 

The  heavens  shrivel  up  like  a  scroll- 
Hell's  ocean  shall  bare 
Its  depths  of  despair, 

Each  wave  an  eternal  soul ! 
For  the  only  thing,  then, 
That  shall  not  live  again 

Is  the  corpse  of  the  giant  TIME. 
Hark,  the  trumpet  of  thunder ! 
Lo,  earth  rent  asunder ! 

And,  forth,  on  his  Angel-throne, 
HE  comes  through  the  gloom, 
The  Judge  of  the  Tomb, 

To  summon  and  save  His  own ! 

Oh,  joy  to  Care,  and  woe  to  Crime, 
He  comes  to  save  His  own ! 

Woe  to  the  proud  ones  who  defy  Him ! 

Woe  to  the  dreamers  who  deny  Him ! 
Woe  to  the  wicked,  woe !  " 


A  sudden  silence  from  the  startled  hall  of  revel  suc- 
ceeded these  ominous  words :  the  Christians  swept  on, 
and  were  soon  hidden  from  the  sight  of  the  gladiator. 
Awed,  he  scarce  knew  why,  by  the  mystic  denuncia- 
tions of  the  Christians,  Lydon,  after  a  short  pause,  now 
rose  to  pursue  his  way  homeward. 

Before  him,  how  serenely  slept  the  starlight  on  that 
lovely  city !  how  breathlessly  its  pillared  streets  re- 
posed in  their  security! — how  softly  rippled  the  dark- 
green  waves  beyond  ! — how  cloudless  spread,  aloft  and 
blue,  the  dreaming  Campanian  skies !  Yet  this  was  the 
last  night  for  the  gay  Pompeii !  the  colony  of  the  hoar 
Chaldean !  the  fabled  city  of  Hercules !  the  delight  of 
the  voluptuous  Roman !  Age  after  age  had  rolled,  in- 
destructive,  unheeded,  over  its  head ;  and  now  the  last 
ray  quivered  on  the  dial-plate  of  its  doom !  The 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        463 

gladiator  heard  some  light  steps  behind — a  group  of 
females  were  wending  homeward  from  their  visit  to 
the  amphitheatre.  As  he  turned,  his  eye  was  arrested 
by  a  strange  and  sudden  apparition.  From  the  sum- 
mit of  Vesuvius  darkly  visible  at  the  distance,  there 
shot  a  pale,  meteoric,  livid  light — it  trembled  an  in- 
stant and  was  gone.  And  at  the  same  moment  that  his 
eye  caught  it,  the  voice  of  one  of  the  youngest  of  the 
women  broke  out  hilariously  and  shrill : — 

"  TRAMP  !  TRAMP  !  HOW  GAILY  THEY  GO  ! 
HO,  HO  !  FOR  THE  MORROW'S  MERRY  SHOW  !  " 


BOOK   V 

Stat  ecce  ad  aras  hostia,  expectat  manum 
Cervice  prona. — SENEC. 

Before  the  altars,  lo,  the  victim  stands, 
And  waits  with  bended  neck  the  fatal  blow. 

Mutatus  ordo  est — sede  nil  propria  jacet, 
Sed  acta  retro  cuncta. — Ibid. 

The  appointed  order  changes !  nought  remains 
In  the  allotted  ranks,  but  backward  rolls 
The  tide  of  acted  things. 

Tempore  quanquam  illo  tellus  quoqut,  et  aequora  ponte 
Signa  dabant. — VIRGIL  :  Georgic.  lib.  i. 

In  the  same  time,  the  earth  and  surging  seas 
Gave  signal ! 


CHAPTER   I 

THE   DREAM   OF   ARBACES. A   VISITOR   AND   A   WARNING 

TO   THE   EGYPTIAN. 

The  awful  night  preceding  the  fierce  joy  of  the  am- 
phitheatre rolled  drearily  away,  and  greyly  broke 
forth  the  dawn  of  THE  LAST  DAY  OF  POMPEII  !  The 
air  was  uncommonly  calm  and  sultry— a  thin  and  dull 
mist  gathered  over  the  valleys  and  hollows  of  the 
broad  Campanian  fields.  But  yet  it  was  remarked  in 
surprise  by  the  early  fishermen,  that,  despite  the  ex- 
ceeding stillness  of  the  atmosphere,  the  waves  of  the 
sea  were  agitated,  and  seemed,  as  it  were,  to  run  dis- 

464 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        465 

turbedly  back  from  the  shore ;  while  along  the  blue  and 
stately  Sarnus,  whose  ancient  breadth  of  channel  the 
traveller  now  vainly  seeks  to  discover,  there  crept  a 
hoarse  and  sullen  murmur,  as  it  glided  by  the  laugh- 
ing plains  and  the  gaudy  villas  of  the  wealthy  citizens. 
Clear  above  the  low  mist  rose  the  time-worn  towers 
of  the  immemorial  town,  the  red-tiled  roofs  of  the 
bright  streets,  the  solemn  columns  of  many  temples, 
and  the  statue-crowned  portals  of  the  Forum  and  the 
Arch  of  Triumph.  Far  in  the  distance,  the  outline  of 
the  circling  hills  soared  above  the  vapours,  and  min- 
gled with  the  changeful  hues  of  the  morning  sky.  The 
cloud  that  had  so  long  rested  over  the  crest  of  Ve- 
suvius had  suddenly  vanished,  and  its  rugged  and 
haughty  brow  looked  without  a  frown  over  the  beauti- 
ful scenes  below. 

Despite  the  earliness  of  the  hour,  the  gates  of  the 
city  were  already  opened.  Horsemen  upon  horsemen, 
vehicle  after  vehicle,  poured  rapidly  in ;  and  the  voices 
of  numerous  pedestrian  groups,  clad  in  holiday  attire, 
rose  high  in  joyous  and  excited  merriment;  the  streets 
were  crowded  with  citizens  and  strangers  from  the 
populous  neighbourhood  of  Pompeii ;  and  noisily — 
fast — confusedly  swept  the  many  streams  of  life  tow- 
ards the  fatal  show. 

Despite  the  vast  size  of  the  amphitheatre,  seemingly 
so  disproportioned  to  the  extent  of  the  city,  and  formed 
to  include  nearly  the  whole  population  of  Pompeii  it- 
self, so  great,  on  extraordinary  occasions,  was  the 
concourse  of  strangers  from  all  parts  of  Campania, 
that  the  space  before  it  was  usually  crowded  for  sev- 
eral hours  previous  to  the  commencement  of  the  sports, 
by  such  persons  as  were  not  entitled  by  their  rank  to 
appointed  and  special  seats.  And  the  intense  curiosity 
30 


466        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

which  the  trial  and  sentence  of  two  criminals  so  re- 
markable had  occasioned,  increased  the  crowd  on  this 
day  to  an  extent  wholly  unprecedented. 

While  the  common  people,  with  the  lively  vehemence 
of  their  Campanian  blood,  were  thus  pushing,  scram- 
bling, hurrying  on, — yet,  amidst  all  their  eagerness 
preserving,  as  is  now  the  wont  with  Italians  in  such 
meetings,  a  wonderful  order  and  unquarrelsome  good- 
humour,  a  strange  visitor  to  Arbaces  was  threading  her 
way  to  his  sequestered  mansion.  At  the  sight  of  her 
quaint  and  primaeval  garb — of  her  wild  gait  and  gest- 
ures— the  passengers  she  encountered  touched  each 
other  and  smiled ;  but  as  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
countenance,  the  mirth  was  hushed  at  once,  for  the 
face  was  as  the  face  of  the  dead ;  and,  what  with  the 
ghastly  features  and  obsolete  robes  of  the  stranger,  it 
seemed  as  if  one  long  entombed  had  risen  once  more 
amongst  the  living.  In  silence  and  awe  each  group 
gave  way  as  she  passed  along,  and  she  soon  gained  the 
broad  porch  of  the  Egyptian's  palace. 

The  black  porter,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  astir  at 
an  unusual  hour,  started  as  he  opened  the  door  to  her 
summons. 

The  sleep  of  the  Egyptian  had  been  unusually  pro- 
found during  the  night ;  but,  as  the  dawn  approached, 
it  was  disturbed  by  strange  and  unquiet  dreams,  which 
impressed  him  the  more  as  they  were  coloured  by  the 
peculiar  philosophy  he  embraced. 

He  thought  that  he  was  transported  to  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  and  that  he  stood  alone  in  a  mighty  cav- 
ern, supported  by  enormous  columns  of  rough  and 
primaeval  rock,  lost,  as  they  ascended,  in  the  vastness 
of  a  shadow  athwart  whose  eternal  darkness  no  beam 
of  day  had  ever  glanced.  And  in  the  space  between 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        467 

these  columns  were  huge  wheels,  that  whirled  round 
and  round  unceasingly,  and  with  a  rushing  and  roar- 
ing noise.  Only  to  the  right  and  left  extremities  of 
the  cavern,  the  space  between  the  pillars  was  left  bare, 
and  the  apertures  stretched  away  into  the  galleries — 
not  wholly  dark,  but  dimly  lighted  by  wandering  and 
erratic  fires,  that,  meteor-like,  now  crept  (as  the  snake 
creeps )  along  the  rugged  and  dank  soil ;  and  now 
leaped  fiercely  to  and  fro,  darting  across  the  vast  gloom 
in  wild  gambols — suddenly  disappearing,  and  as  sud- 
denly bursting  into  tenfold  brilliancy  and  power.  And 
while  he  gazed  wonderingly  upon. the  gallery  to  the 
left,  thin,  mist-like,  aerial  shapes  passed  slowly  up; 
and  when  they  had  gained  the  hall  they  seemed  to  rise 
aloft,  and  to  vanish,  as  the  smoke  vanishes,  in  the 
measureless  ascent. 

He  turned  in  fear  towards  the  opposite  extremity — 
and  behold !  there  came  swiftly  from  the  gloom  above, 
similar  shadows,  which  swept  hurriedly  along  the  gal- 
lery to  the  right,  as  if  borne  involuntarily  adown  the 
tides  of  some  invisible  stream;  and  the  faces  of  these 
spectres  were  more  distinct  than  those  that  emerged 
from  the  opposite  passage ;  and  on  some  was  joy,  and 
on  others  sorrow — some  were  vivid  with  expectation 
and  hope,  some  unutterably  dejected  by  awe  and  hor- 
(  ror.    And  so  they  passed,  swift  and  constantly  on,  till 
ithe  eyes  of  the  gazer  grew  dizzy  and  blinded  with  the 
'  whirl  of  an  ever-varying  succession  of  things  impelled 
J  by  a  power  apparently  not  their  own. 

Arbaces  turned  away,  and,  in  the  recess  of  the  hall, 
he  saw  the  mighty  form  of  a  giantess  seated  upon  a 
pile  of  skulls,  and  her  hands  were  busy  upon  a  pale 
and  shadowy  woof;  and  he  saw  that  the  woof  com- 
municated with  the  numberless  wheels,  as  if  it  guided 


468        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

the  machinery  of  their  movements.  He  thought  his 
feet,  by  some  secret  agency,  were  impelled  towards  the 
female,  and  that  he  was  borne  o'nwards  till  he  stood 
before  her,  face  to  face.  The  countenance  of  the 
giantess  was  solemn  and  hushed,  and  beautifully  se- 
rene. It  was  as  the  face  of  some  colossal  sculpture  of 
his  own  ancestral  sphinx.  No  passion — no  human 
emotion,  disturbed  its  brooding  and  unwrinkled  brow : 
there  was  neither  sadness,  nor  joy,  nor  memory,  nor 
hope :  it  was  free  from  all  with  which  the  wild  human 
heart  can  sympathise.  The  mystery  of  mysteries 
rested  on  its  beauty, — it  awed,  but  terrified  not :  it  was 
the  Incarnation  of  the  Sublime.  And  Arbaces  felt  the 
voice  leave  his  lips,  without  an  impulse  of  his  own; 
and  the  voice  asked — 

"  Who  art  thou,  and  what  is  thy  task  ?  " 

"  I  am  That  which  thou  hast  acknowledged,"  an- 
swered, without  desisting  from  its  work,  the  mighty 
phantom.  "  My  name  is  NATURE  !  These  are  the 
wheels  of  the  world,  and  my  hand  guides  them  for  the 
life  of  all  things." 

"  And  what,"  said  the  voice  of  Arbaces,  "  are  these 
galleries,  that  strangely  and  fitly  illumined,  stretch  on 
either  hand  into  the  abyss  of  gloom  ?  " 

"  That,"  answered  the  giant  mother,  "  which  thou 
beholdest  to  the  left,  is  the  gallery  of  the  Unborn. 
The  shadows  that  flit  onward  and  upward  into  the 
world,  are  the  souls  that  pass  from  the  long  eternity 
of  being  to  their  destined  pilgrimage  on  earth.  That 
which  thou  beholdest  to  thy  right,  wherein  the  shad- 
ows descending  from  above  sweep  on,  equally  un- 
known and  dim,  is  the  gallery  of  the  dead !  " 

"  And,  wherefore,"  said  the  voice  of  Arbaces,  "  yon 
wandering  lights,  that  so  wildly  break  the  darkness; 
but  only  break,  not  reveal?  " 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        469 

"  Dark  fool  of  the  human  sciences !  dreamer  of  the 
stars,  and  would-be  decipherer  of  the  heart  and  origin 
of  things !  those  lights  are  but  the  glimmerings  of  such 
knowledge  as  is  vouchsafed  to  Nature  to  work  her 
way,  to  trace  enough  of  the  past  and  future  to  give 
providence  to  her  designs.  Judge,  then,  puppet  as  thou 
art,  what  lights  are  reserved  for  thee !  " 

Arbaces  felt  himself  tremble  as  he  asked  again, 
"  Wherefore  am  I  here  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  forecast  of  thy  soul — the  prescience  of 
the  rushing  doom — the  shadow  of  thy  fate  lengthening 
into  eternity  as  it  declines  from  earth." 

Ere  he  could  answer,  Arbaces  felt  a  rushing  WIND 
sweep  down  the  cavern,  as  the  wings  of  a  giant  god. 
Borne  aloft  from  the  ground,  and  whirled  on  high  as 
a  leaf  in  the  storms  of  autumn,  he  beheld  himself  in 
the  midst  of  the  Spectres  of  the  Dead,  and  hurrying 
with  them  along  the  length  of  gloom.  As  in  vain  and 
impotent  despair  he  struggled  against  the  impelling 
power,  he  thought  the  WIND  grew  into  something  like 
a  shape — a  spectral  outline  of  the  wings  and  talons  of 
an  eagle,  with  limbs  floating  far  and  indistinctly  along 
the  air,  and  eyes  that,  alone  clearly  and  vividly  seen, 
glared  stonily  and  remorselessly  on  his  own. 

"  What  art  thou  ?  "  again  said  the  voice  of  the  Egyp- 
.tian. 

"  I  am  That  which  thou  hast  acknowledged ; "  and 
the  spectre  laughed  aloud — "  and  my  name  is  NECES- 
SITY." 

"  To  what  dost  thou  bear  me  ?  " 

"  To  the  Unknown." 

"  To  happiness  or  to  woe  ?  " 

"  As  thou  hast  sown,  so  shalt  thou  reap." 

"  Dread  thing,  not  so !  If  thou  art  the  Ruler  of 
Life,  thine  are  my  misdeeds,  not  mine.'' 


470        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  I  am  but  the  breath  of  God !  "  answered  the  mighty 
WIND. 

"  Then  is  my  wisdom  vain !  "  groaned  the  dreamer. 

"  The  husbandman  accuses  not  fate,  when,  having 
sown  thistles,  he  reaps  not  corn.  Thou  hast  sown 
crime,  accuse  not  fate  if  thou  reapest  not  the  harvest 
of  virtue." 

The  scene  suddenly  changed.  Arbaces  was  in  a 
place  of  human  bones ;  and  lo !  in  the  midst  of  them 
was  a  skull,  and  the  skull,  still  retaining  its  fleshless 
hollows,  assumed  slowly,  and  in  the  mysterious  con- 
fusion of  a  dream,  the  face  of  Apsecides,  and  forth 
from  the  grinning  jaws  there  crept  a  small  worm,  and 
it  crawled  to  the  feet  of  Arbaces.  He  attempted  to 
stamp  on  it  and  crush  it;  but  it  became  longer  and 
larger  with  that  attempt.  It  swelled  and  bloated  till 
it  grew  into  a  vast  serpent;  it  coiled  itself  round  the 
limbs  of  Arbaces;  it  crunched  his  bones;  it  raised  its 
glaring  eyes  and  poisonous  jaws  to  his  face.  He 
writhed  in  vain  ;  he  withered — he  gasped — beneath  the 
influence  of  the  blighting  breath — he  felt  himself 
blasted  into  death.  And  then  a  voice  came  from  the 
reptile,  which  still  bore  the  face  of  Apaecides,  and  rang 
in  his  reeling  ear, — 

"THY  VICTIM  is  THY  JUDGE!  THE  WORM  THOU 
WOULDST  CRUSH  BECOMES  THE  SERPENT  THAT  DEVOURS 
THEE! " 

With  a  shriek  of  wrath,  and  woe,  and  despairing 
resistance,  Arbaces  awoke — his  hair  on  end — his  brow 
bathed  in  dew — his  eyes  glazed  and  staring — his 
mighty  frame  quivering  as  an  infant's,  beneath  the 
agony  of  that  dream.  He  awoke — he  collected  him-^ 
self — he  blessed  the  gods  whom  he  disbelieved,  that 
he  was  in  a  dream; — he  turned  his  eyes  from  side  to 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        471 

side — he  saw  the  dawning  light  break  through  his 
small  but  lofty  window — he  was  in  the  Precincts  of 
Day — he  rejoiced — he  smiled; — his  eyes  fell,  and  op- 
posite to  him  he  beheld  the  ghastly  features,  the  life- 
less eye,  the  livid  lip — of  the  hag  of  Vesuvius ! 

"  Ha !  "  he  cried,  placing  his  hands  before  his  eyes, 
as  to  shut  out  the  grisly  vision,  "  do  I  dream  still  ? — 
Am  I  with  the  dead  ?  " 

"  Mighty  Hermes — no !  Thou  art  with  one  death- 
like, but  not  dead.  Recognise  thy  friend  and  slave." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Slowly  the  shudders  that 
passed  over  the  limbs  of  the  Egyptian  chased  each 
other  away,  faintlier  and  faintlier  dying  till  he  was 
himself  again. 

"  It  was  a  dream,  then,"  said  he.  "  Well — let  me 
dream  no  more,  or  the  day  cannot  compensate  for  the 
pangs  of  night.  Woman,  how  earnest  thou  here,  and 
wherefore  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  warn  thee,"  answered  the  sepulchral 
voice  of  the  Saga. 

"  Warn  me !  The  dream  lied  not,  then  ?  Of  what 
peril?" 

"  Listen  to  me.  Some  evil  hangs  over  this  fated 
city.  Fly  while  it  be  time.  Thou  knowest  that  I  hold 
my  home  on  that  mountain  beneath  which  old  tradi- 
tion saith  there  yet  burn  the  fires  of  the  river  of 
Phlegethon ;  and  in  my  cavern  is  a  vast  abyss,  and  in 
that  abyss  I  have  of  late  marked  a  red  and  dull  stream 
creep  slowly,  slowly  on;  and  heard  many  and  mighty 
sounds  hissing  and  roaring  through  the  gloom.  But 
last  night,  as  I  looked  thereon,  behold  the  stream  was 
no  longer  dull,  but  intensely  and  fiercely  luminous; 
and  while  I  gazed,  the  beast  that  liveth  with  me,  and 
was  cowering  by  my  side,  uttered  a  shrill  howl,  and 


472        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

fell  down  and  died,1  and  the  slaver  and  froth  were 
round  his  lips.  I  crept  back  to  my  lair ;  but  I  distinctly 
heard,  all  the  night,  the  rock  shake  and  tremble;  and, 
though  the  air  was  heavy  and  still,  there  were  the  hiss- 
ing of  pent  winds  and  the  grinding  as  of  wheels  be- 
neath the  ground.  So,  when  I  rose  this  morning  at 
the  very  birth  of  dawn,  I  looked  again  down  the  abyss, 
and  I  saw  vast  fragments  of  stone  borne  black  and 
floatingly  over  the  lurid  stream ;  and  the  stream  itself 
was  broader,  fiercer,  redder  than  the  night  before. 
Then  I  went  forth  and  ascended  to  the  summit  of  the 
rock :  and  in  that  summit  there  appeared  a  sudden  and 
vast  hollow,  which  I  had  never  perceived  before,  from 
which  curled  a  dim,  faint  smoke ;  and  the  vapour  was 
deathly,  and  I  gasped,  and  sickened,  and  nearly  died. 
I  returned  home.  I  took  my  gold  and  my  drugs,  and 
left  the  habitation  of  many  years;  for  I  remembered 
the  dark  Etruscan  prophecy  which  saith,  '  When  the 
mountain  opens  the  city  shall  fall — when  the  smoke 
crowns  the  Hill  of  the  Parched  Fields,  there  shall  be 
woe  and  weeping  in  the  hearths  of  the  Children  of  the 
Sea.'  Dread  master,  ere  I  leave  these  walls  for  some 
more  distant  dwelling,  I  come  to  thee.  As  thou  livest, 
know  I  in  my  heart  that  the  earthquake  that  sixteen 
years  ago  shook  this  city  to  its  solid  base,  was  but  the 
forerunner  of  more  deadly  doom.  The  walls  of  Pom- 
peii are  built  above  the  fields  of  the  Dead,  and  the 
rivers  of  the  sleepless  Hell.  Be  warned  and  fly !  " 

"  Witch,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  care  of  one  not  un- 
grateful. On  yon  table  stands  a  cup  of  gold ;  take  it, 
it  is  thine.  I  dreamt  not  that  there  lived  one,  out  of 
the  priesthood  of  Isis,  who  would  have  saved  Arbaces 

1  We  may  suppose  that  the  exhalations  were  similar  in  effect 
to  those  of  the  Grotta  del  Cane. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        473 

from  destruction.  The  signs  thou  hast  seen  in  the  bed 
of  the  extinct  volcano,"  continued  the  Egyptian,  mus- 
ingly, "  surely  tell  of  some  coming  danger  to  the  city ; 
perhaps  another  earthquake  fiercer  than  the  last.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  there  is  a  new  reason  for  my  hastening 
from  these  walls.  After  this  day  I  will  prepare  my 
departure.  Daughter  of  Etruria,  whither  wendest 
thou  ?  " 

"  I  shall  cross  over  to  Herculaneum  this  day,  and, 
wandering  thence  along  the  coast,  shall  seek  out  a  new 
home.  I  am  friendless:  my  two  companions,  the  fox 
and  the  snake,  are  dead.  Great  Hermes,  thou  ha-st 
promised  me  twenty  additional  years  of  life !  " 

"  Ay,"  said  the  Egyptian,  "  I  have  promised  thee. 
But,  woman,"  he  added,  lifting  himself  upon  his  arm, 
and  gazing  curiously  on  her  face,  "  tell  me,  I  pray  thee, 
wherefore  thou  wishest  to  live?  What  sweets  dost 
thou  discover  in  existence  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  life  that  is  sweet,  but  death  that  is  awful," 
replied  the  hag,  in  a  sharp,  impressive  tone,  that 
struck  forcibly  upon  the  heart  of  the  vain  star-seer. 
He  winced  at  the  truth  of  the  reply;  and,  no  longer 
anxious  to  retain  so  uninviting  a  companion,  he  said, 
"  Time  wanes ;  I  must  prepare  for  the  solemn  specta- 
cle of  this  day.  Sister,  farewell!  enjoy  thyself  as  thou 
canst  over  the  ashes  of  life." 

The  hag,  who  had  placed  the  costly  gift  of  Arbaces 
in  the  loose  folds  of  her  vest,  now  rose  to  depart. 
When  she  had  gained  the  door  she  paused,  turned  back 
and  said,  "  This  may  be  the  last  time  we  meet  on  earth ; 
but  whither  flieth  the  flame  when  it  leaves  the  ashes? 
— Wandering  to  and  fro,  up  and  down,  as  an  exhala- 
tion on  the  morass,  the  flame  may  be  seen  in  the 
marshes  of  the  lake  below;  and  the  witch  and  the 


474        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Magian,  the  pupil  and  the  master,  the  great  one  and 
the  accursed  one,  may  meet  again.  Farewell !  " 

"  Out,  croaker !  "  muttered  Arbaces,  as  the  door 
closed  on  the  hag's  tattered  robes;  and,  impatient  of 
his  own  thoughts,  not  yet  recovered  from  the  past 
dream,  he  hastily  summoned  his  slaves. 

It  was  the  custom  to  attend  the  ceremonials  of  the 
amphitheatre  in  festive  robes,  and  Arbaces  arrayed 
himself  that  day  with  more  than  usual  care.  His 
tunic  was  of  the  most  dazzling  white ;  his  many  fibulae 
were  formed  from  the  most  precious  stones:  over  his 
tunic  flowed  a  loose  eastern  robe,  half-gown,  half- 
mantle,  glowing  in  the  richest  hues  of  the  Tyrian  dye ; 
and  the  sandals,  that  reached  half-way  up  the  knee, 
were  studded  with  gems,  and  inlaid  with  gold.  In  the 
quackeries  that  belonged  to  his  priestly  genius,  Ar- 
baces never  neglected,  on  great  occasions,  the  arts 
which  dazzle  and  impose  upon  the  vulgar ;  and  on  this 
day,  that  was  for  ever  to  release  him,  by  the  sacrifices 
of  Glaucus,  from  the  fear  of  a  rival  and  the  chance  of 
detection,  he  felt  that  he  was  arraying  himself  as  for 
a  triumph  or  a  nuptial  feast. 

It  was  customary  for  men  of  rank  to  be  accompanied 
to  the  shows  of  the  amphitheatre  by  a  procession  of 
their  slaves  and  f reedmen ;  and  the  long  "  family  "  of 
Arbaces  were  already  arranged  in  order,  to  attend  the 
litter  of  their  lord. 

Only,  to  their  great  chagrin,  the  slaves  in  attendance 
on  lone,  and  the  worthy  Sosia,  as  gaoler  to  Nydia, 
were  condemned  to  remain  at  home. 

"  Callias,"  said  Arbaces,  apart  to  his  freedman,  who 
was  buckling  on  his  girdle,  "  I  am  weary  of  Pompeii ; 
I  propose  to  quit  it  in  three  days,  should  the  wind  fa- 
vour. Thou  knowest  the  vessel  that  lies  in  the  har- 


475 

hour  which  belonged  to  Narses  of  Alexandria ;  I  have 
purchased  it  of  him.  The  day  after  to-morrow  we 
shall  begin  to  remove  my  stores." 

"  So  soon !  'Tis  well.  Arbaces  shall  be  obeyed ; — 
and  his  ward,  lone?  " 

"  Accompanies  me.  Enough ! — is  the  morning 
fair?" 

"  Dim  and  oppressive ;  it  will  probably  be  intensely 
hot  in  the  forenoon." 

"  The  poor  gladiators,  and  more  wretched  crimi- 
nals !  Descend,  and  see  that  the  slaves  are  marshalled." 

Left  alone,  Arbaces  stepped  into  his  chamber  of 
study,  and  thence  upon  the  portico  without.  He  saw 
the  dense  masses  of  men  pouring  fast  into  the  am- 
phitheatre, and  heard  the  cry  of  the  assistants,  and  the 
cracking  of  the  cordage,  as  they  were  straining  aloft 
the  huge  awning  under  which  the  citizens,  molested  by 
no  discomforting  ray,  were  to  behold,  at  luxurious 
ease,  the  agonies  of  their  fellow-creatures.  Suddenly 
a  wild,  strange  sound  went  forth,  and  as  suddenly  died 
away — it  was  the  roar  of  the  lion.  There  was  a  silence 
in  the  distant  crowd ;  but  the  silence  was  followed  by 
joyous  laughter — they  were  making  merry  at  the  hun- 
gry impatience  of  the  royal  beast. 

"Brutes!"  muttered  the  disdainful  Arbaces,  "are 
ye  less  homicides  than  I  am  ?  /  slay  but  in  self-defence 
— ye  make  murder  pastime." 

He  turned,  with  a  restless  and  curious  eye,  towards 
Vesuvius.  Beautifully  glowed  the  green  vineyards 
round  its  breast,  and  tranquil  as  eternity  lay  in  the 
breathless  skies  the  form  of  the  mighty  hill. 

"  We  have  time  yet,  if  the  earthquake  be  nursing," 
thought  Arbaces ;  and  he  turned  from  the  spot.  He 
passed  by  the  table  which  bore  his  mystic  scrolls  and 
Chaldean  calculations. 


476        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  August  art !  "  he  thought,  "  I  have  not  consulted 
thy  decrees  since  I  passed  the  danger  and  the  crisis 
they  foretold.  What  matter  ? — I  know  that  henceforth 
all  in  my  path  is  bright  and  smooth.  Have  not  events 
already  proved  it?  Away,  doubt — away,  pity!  Re- 
flect, O  my  heart — reflect,  for  the  future,  but  two 
images — Empire  and  lone !  " 


CHAPTER   II 

THE   AMPHITHEATRE. 

Nydia,  assured  by  the  account  of  Sosia,  on  his  re- 
turn home,  and  satisfied  that  her  letter  was  in  the 
hands  of  Sallust,  gave  herself  up  once  more  to  hope. 
Sallust  would  surely  lose  no  time  in  seeking  the  praetor 
— in  coming  to  the  house  of  the  Egyptian — in  releas- 
ing her — in  breaking  the  prison  of  Calenus.  That  very 
night  Glaucus  would  be  free.  Alas!  the  night  passed 
— the  dawn  broke ;  she  heard  nothing  but  the  hurried 
footsteps  of  the  slaves  along  the  hall  and  peristyle,  and 
their  voices  in  preparation  for  the  show.  By  and  by, 
the  commanding  voice  of  Arbaces  broke  on  her  ear — 
a  flourish  of  music  rang  out  cheerily :  the  long  proces- 
sion were  sweeping  to  the  amphitheatre  to  glut  their 
eyes  on  the  death-pangs  of  the  Athenian  ! 

The  procession  of  Arbaces  moved  along  slowly,  and 
with  much  solemnity,  till  now,  arriving  at  the  place 
where  it  was  necessary  for  such  as  came  in  litters  or 
chariots  to  alight,  Arbaces  descended  from  his  vehicle, 
and  proceeded  to  the  entrance  by  which  the  more  dis- 
tinguished spectators  were  admitted.  His  slaves, 
mingling  with  the  humbler  crowd,  were  stationed  by 
officers  who  received  their  tickets  (not  much  unlike 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        477 

our  modern  opera  ones),  in  places  in  the  popularia 
(the  seats  apportioned  to  the  vulgar).  And  now,  from 
the  spot  where  Arbaces  sat,  his  eyes  scanned  the 
mighty  and  impatient  crowd  that  filled  the  stupendous 
theatre. 

On  the  upper  tier  (but  apart  from  the  male  specta- 
tors) sat  the  women,  their  gay  dresses  resembling 
some  gaudy  flower-bed ;  it  is  needless  to  add  that  they 
were  the  most  talkative  part  of  the  assembly;  and 
many  were  the  looks  directed  up  to  them,  especially 
from  the  benches  appropriated  to  the  young  and  the 
unmarried  men.  On  the  lower  seats  round  the  arena 
sat  the  more  high-born  and  wealthy  visitors — the  mag- 
istrates and  those  of  senatorial  or  equestrian  *  dignity : 
the  passages  which,  by  corridors  at  the  right  and  left, 
gave  access  to  these  seats,  at  either  end  of  the  oval 
arena,  were  also  the  entrances  for  the  combatants. 
Strong  palings  at  these  passages  prevented  any  un- 
welcome eccentricity  in  the  movements  of  the  beasts, 
and  confined  them  to  their  appointed  prey.  Around 
the  parapet  which  was  raised  above  the  arena,  and 
from  which  the  seats  gradually  rose,  were  gladiatorial 
inscriptions,  and  paintings  wrought  in  fresco,  typical 
of  the  entertainments  for  which  the  place  was  de- 
signed. Throughout  the  whole  building  wound  in- 
visible pipes,  from  which,  as  the  day  advanced,  cool- 
ing and  fragrant  showers  were  to  be  sprinkled  over  the 
spectators.  The  officers  of  the  amphitheatre  were  still 
employed  in  the  task  of  fixing  the  vast  awning  (or 
velaria}  which  covered  the  whole,  and  which  luxurious 
invention  the  Campanians  arrogated  to  themselves:  it 
was  woven  of  the  whitest  Apulian  wool,  and  variegated 
with  broad  stripes  of  crimson.  Owing  either  to  some 
1  The  equites  sat  immediately  behind  the  senators. 


478        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

inexperience  on  the  part  of  the  workmen,  or  to  some 
defect  in  the  machinery,  the  awning,  however,  was  not 
arranged  that  day  so  happily  as  usual ;  indeed,  from  the 
immense  space  of  the  circumference,  the  task  was  al- 
ways one  of  great  difficulty  and  art — so  much  so,  that 
it  could  seldom  be  adventured  in  rough  or  windy 
weather.  But  the  present  day  was  so  remarkably  still 
that  there  seemed  to  the  spectators  no  excuse  for  the 
awkwardness  of  the  artificers ;  and  when  a  large  gap  in 
the  back  of  the  awning  was  still  visible,  from  the  ob- 
stinate refusal  of  one  part  of  the  velaria  to  ally  itself 
with  the  rest,  the  murmurs  of  discontent  were  loud  and 
general. 

The  aedile  Pansa,  at  whose  expense  the  exhibition 
was  given,  looked  particularly  annoyed  at  the  defect, 
and  vowed  bitter  vengeance  on  the  head  of  the  chief 
officer  of  the  show,  who,  fretting,  puffing,  perspiring, 
busied  himself  in  idle  orders  and  unavailing  threats. 

The  hubbub  ceased  suddenly — the  operators  de- 
sisted— the  crowd  were  stilled — the  gap  was  forgotten 
— for  now,  with  a  loud  and  warlike  flourish  of  trum- 
pets, the  gladiators,  marshalled  in  ceremonious  pro- 
cession, entered  the  arena.  They  swept  round  the  oval 
space  very  slowly  and  deliberately,  in  order  to  give  the 
spectators  full  leisure  to  admire  their  stern  serenity  of 
feature — their  brawny  limbs  and  various  arms,  as  well 
as  to  form  such  wagers  as  the  excitement  of  the  mo- 
ment might  suggest. 

"  Oh !  "  cried  the  widow  Fulvia  to  the  wife  of  Pansa, 
as  they  leaned  down  from  their  lofty  bench,  "  do  you 
see  that  gigantic  gladiator  ?  how  drolly  he  is  dressed !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  sedile's  wife,  with  complacent  im- 
portance, for  she  knew  all  the  names  and  qualities  of 
each  combatant ;  "  he  is  a  retiarius  or  netter ;  he  is 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        479 

armed  only,  you  see,  with  a  three-pronged  spear  like 
a  trident,  and  a  net ;  he  wears  no  armour,  only  the  fillet 
and  the  tunic.  He  is  a  mighty  man,  and  is  to  fight  with 
Sporus,  yon  thick-set  gladiator,  with  the  round  shield 
and  drawn  sword,  but  without  body  armour;  he  has 
not  his  helmet  on  now,  in  order  that  you  may  see  his 
face — how  fearless  it  is ! — by  and  by  he  will  fight  with 
his  vizor  down." 

"  But  surely  a  net  and  a  spear  are  poor  arms  against 
a  shield  and  sword  ?  " 

"  That  shows  how  innocent  you  are,  my  dear  Fulvia  • 
the  retiarius  has  generally  the  best  of  it." 

"  But  who  is  yon  handsome  gladiator,  nearly  naked 
— is  it  not  quite  improper  ?  By  Venus !  but  his  limbs 
are  beautifully  shaped !  " 

"  It  is  Lydon,  a  young  untried  man !  he  has  the  rash- 
ness to  fight  yon  other  gladiator  similarly  dressed,  or 
rather  undressed — Tetraides.  They  fight  first  in  the 
Greek  fashion,  with  the  cestus ;  afterwards  they  put  on 
armour,  and  try  sword  and  shield." 

"  He  is  a  proper  man,  this  Lydon ;  and  the  women, 
I  am  sure,  are  on  his  side." 

"  So  are  not  the  experienced  betters ;  Clodius  offers 
three  to  one  against  him." 

"  Oh,  Jove !  how  beautiful !  "  exclaimed  the  widow, 
as  two  gladiators,  armed  cap-a-pic,  rode  round  the 
arena  on  light  and  prancing  steeds.  Resembling  much 
the  combatants  in  the  tilts  of  the  middle  ages,  they 
bore  lances  and  round  shields  beautifully  inlaid :  their 
armour  was  woven  intricately  with  bands  of  iron,  but 
covered  only  the  thighs  and  the  right  arms;  short 
cloaks  extending  to  the  seat,  gave  a  picturesque  and 
graceful  air  to  their  costume;  their  legs  were  naked, 
with  the  exception  of  sandals,  which  were  fastened  a 


480        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

little  above  the  ankle.  "  Oh  beautiful !  Who  are 
these  ?  "  asked  the  widow. 

"  The  one  is  named  Berbix — he  has  conquered 
twelve  times ;  the  other  assumes  the  arrogant  name  of 
Nobilior.  They  are  both  Gauls." 

While  thus  conversing,  the  first  formalities  of  the 
show  were  over.  To  these  succeeded  a  feigned  combat 
with  wooden  swords  between  the  various  gladiators 
matched  against  each  other.  Amongst  these,  the  skill 
of  two  Roman  gladiators,  hired  for  the  occasion,  was 
the  most  admired;  and  next  to  them  the  most  grace- 
ful combatant  was  Lydon.  This  sham  contest  did  not 
last  above  an  hour,  nor  did  it  attract  any  very  lively 
interest,  except  among  those  connoisseurs  of  the  arena 
to  whom  art  was  preferable  to  more  coarse  excite- 
ment; the  body  of  the  spectators  were  rejoiced  when  it 
was  over,  and  when  the  sympathy  rose  to  terror.  The 
combatants  were  now  arranged  in  pairs,  as  agreed  be- 
forehand ;  their  weapons  examined ;  and  the  grave 
sports  of  the  day  commenced  amidst  the  deepest  si- 
lence— broken  only  by  an  exciting  and  preliminary 
blast  of  warlike  music. 

It  was  often  customary  to  begin  the  sports  by  the 
most  cruel  of  all,  and  some  bcstiarins,  or  gladiator  ap- 
pointed to  the  beasts,  was  slain  first,  as  an  initiatory 
sacrifice.  But  in  the  present  instance,  the  experienced 
Pansa  thought  it  better  that  the  sanguinary  drama 
should  advance,  not  decrease,  in  interest ;  and,  accord- 
ingly, the  execution  of  Olinthus  and  Glaucus  was  re- 
served for  the  last.  It  was  arranged  that  the  two 
horsemen  should  first  occupy  the  arena ;  that  the  foot 
gladiators,  paired  off,  should  then  be  loosed  indis- 
criminately on  the  stage;  that  Glaucus  and  the  lion 
should  next  perform  their  part  in  the  bloody  spectacle ; 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        481 

and  the  tiger  and  the  Nazarene  be  the  grand  finale. 
And,  in  the  spectacles  of  Pompeii,  the  reader  of  Ro- 
man history  must  limit  his  imagination,  nor  expect  to 
find  those  vast  and  wholesale  exhibitions  of  magnificent 
slaughter  with  which  a  Nero  or  a  Caligula  regaled  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Imperial  City.  The  Roman  shows, 
which  absorbed  the  more  celebrated  gladiators,  and 
the  chief  proportion  of  foreign  beasts,  were  indeed  the 
very  reason  why,  in  the  lesser  towns  of  the  empire, 
the  sports  of  the  amphitheatre  were  comparatively  hu- 
mane and  rare ;  and  in  this,  as  in  other  respects,  Pom- 
peii was  but  the  miniature,  the  microcosm  of  Rome. 
Still,  it  was  an  awful  and  imposing  spectacle,  with 
which  modern  times  have,  happily,  nothing  to  com- 
pare:— a  vast  theatre,  rising  row  upon  row,  and 
swarming  with  human  beings,  from  fifteen  to  eighteen 
thousand  in  number,  intent  upon  no  fictitious  represen- 
tation— no  tragedy  of  the  stage — but  the  actual  victory 
or  defeat,  the  exultant  life  or  the  bloody  death,  of  each 
and  all  who  entered  the  arena ! 

The  two  horsemen  were  now  at  either  extremity  of 
the  lists  (if  so  they  might  be  called)  ;  and,  at  a  given 
signal  from  Pansa,  the  combatants  started  simul- 
taneously as  in  full  collision,  each  advancing  his  round 
buckler,  each  poising  on  high  his  light  yet  sturdy  jave- 
lin ;  but  just  when  within  three  paces  of  his  opponent, 
the  steed  of  Berbix  suddenly  halted,  wheeled  round, 
and,  as  Nobilior  was  borne  rapidly  by,  his  antagonist 
spurred  upon  him.  The  buckler  of  Nobilior,  ouickly 
and  skilfully  extended,  received  a  blow  which  other- 
wise would  have  been  fatal. 

"  Well   done,    Nobilior !  "   cried  the  praetor,   giving 
the  first  vent  to  the  popular  excitement. 
31 


482        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Bravely  struck,  my  Berbix !  "  answered  Clodius 
from  his  seat. 

And  the  wild  murmur,  swelled  by  many  a  shout, 
echoed  from  side  to  side. 

The  vizors  of  both  the  horsemen  were  completely 
closed  (like  those  of  the  knights  in  after  times),  but 
the  head  was,  nevertheless,  the  great  point  of  assault; 
and  Nobilior,  now  wheeling  his  charger  with  no  less 
adroitness  than  his  opponent,  directed  his  spear  full  on 
the  helmet  of  his  foe.  Berbix  raised  his  buckler  to 
shield  himself,  and  his  quick-eyed  antagonist,  suddenly 
lowering  his  weapon,  pierced  him  through  the  breast. 
Berbix  reeled  and  fell. 

"  Nobilior !  Nobilior !  "  shouted  the  populace. 

"  I  have  lost  ten  sestertia,"  1  said  Clodius,  between 
his  teeth. 

"  Habct! — he  has  it,"  said  Pansa,  deliberately. 

The  populace,  not  yet  hardened  into  cruelty,  made 
the  signal  of  mercy ;  but  as  the  attendants  of  the  arena 
approached,  they  found  the  kindness  came  too  late; — 
the  heart  of  the  Gaul  had  been  pierced,  and  his  eyes 
were  set  in  death.  It  was  his  life's  blood  that  flowed 
so  darkly  over  the  sand  and  sawdust  of  the  arena. 

"  It  is  a  pity  it  was  so  soon  over — there  was  little 
enough  for  one's  trouble,"  said  the  widow  Fulvia. 

"  Yes — I  have  no  compassion  for  Berbix.  Any  one 
might  have  seen  that  Nobilior  did  but  feint.  Mark, 
they  fix  the  fatal  hook  to  the  body — they  drag  him 
away  to  the  spoliarium — they  scatter  new  sand  over 
the  stage !  Pansa  regrets  nothing  more  than  that  he  is 
not  rich  enough  to  strew  the  arena  with  borax  and  cin- 
nabar, as  Nero  used  to  do !  " 

"  Well,  if  it  has  been  a  brief  battle,  it  is  quickly  suc- 
1  A  little  more  than  £80. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        483 

ceeded.  See  my  handsome  Lydon  on  the  arena — ay, 
and  the  net-bearer  too,  and  the  swordsman !  Oh 
charming !  " 

There  were  now  on  the  arena  six  combatants :  Niger 
and  his  net,  matched  against  Sporus  with  his  shield 
and  his  short  broadsword;  Lydon  and  Tetraides, 
naked  save  by  a  cincture  round  the  waist,  each  armed 
only  with  a  heavy  Greek  cestus — and  two  gladiators 
from  Rome  clad  in  complete  steel,  and  evenly  matched 
with  immense  bucklers  and  pointed  swords. 

The  initiatory  contest  between  Lydon  and  Tetraides 
being  less  deadly  than  that  between  the  other  com- 
batants, no  sooner  had  they  advanced  to  the  middle  of 
the  arena  than,  as  by  common  consent,  the  rest  held 
back,  to  see  how  that  contest  should  be  decided,  and 
wait  till  fiercer  weapons  might  replace  the  cestus,  ere 
they  themselves  commenced  hostilities.  They  stood 
leaning  on  their  arms  and  apart  from  each  other,  gaz- 
ing on  the  show,  which,  if  not  bloody  enough,  thor- 
oughly to  please  the  populace,  they  were  still  inclined 
to  admire,  because  its  origin  was  of  their  ancestral 
Greece. 

No  person  could,  at  first  glance,  have  seemed  less 
evenly  matched  than  the  two  antagonists.  Tetraides, 
though  not  taller  than  Lydon,  weighed  considerably 
more ;  the  natural  size  of  his  muscles  was  increased,  to 
the  eyes  of  the  vulgar,  by  masses  of  solid  flesh ;  for,  as 
it  was  a  notion  that  the  contest  of  the  cestus  fared 
easiest  with  him  who  was  plumpest,  Tetraides  had  en- 
couraged to  the  utmost  his  hereditary  predisposition 
to  the  portly.  His  shoulders  were  vast,  and  his  lower 
limbs  thick-set,  double-jointed,  and  slightly  curved 
outward  in  that  formation  which  takes  so  much  from 
beauty  to  give  so  largely  to  strength.  But  Lydon,  ex- 


484        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

cept  that  he  was  slender  even  almost  to  meagreness, 
was  beautifully  and  delicately  proportioned;  and  the 
skilful  might  have  perceived  that,  with  much  less  com- 
pass of  muscle  than  his  foe,  that  which  he  had  was 
more  seasoned — iron  and  compact.  In  proportion,  too, 
as  he  wanted  flesh,  he  was  likely  to  possess  activity ; 
and  a  haughty  smile  on  his  resolute  face,  which 
strongly  contrasted  the  solid  heaviness  of  his  enemy's, 
gave  assurance  to  those  who  beheld  it,  and  united  their 
hope  to  their  pity :  so  that,  despite  the  disparity  of  their 
seeming  strength,  the  cry  of  the  multitude  was  nearly 
as  loud  for  Lydon  as  for  Tetraides. 

Whoever  is  acquainted  with  the  modern  prize-ring 
— whoever  has  witnessed  the  heavy  and  disabling 
strokes  which  the  human  fist,  skilfully  directed,  hath 
the  power  to  bestow — may  easily  understand  how 
much  that  happy  facility  would  be  increased  by  a  band 
carried  by  thongs  of  leather  round  the  arm  as  high  as 
the  elbow,  and  terribly  strengthened  about  the  knuckles 
by  a  plate  of  iron,  and  sometimes  a  plummet  of  lead. 
Yet  this,  which  was  meant  to  increase,  perhaps  rather 
diminished,  the  interest  of  the  fray :  for  it  necessarily 
shortened  its  duration.  A  very  few  blows,  successfully 
and  scientifically  planted,  might  suffice  to  bring  the  con- 
test to  a  close ;  and  the  battle  did  not,  therefore,  often 
•allow  full  scope  for  the  energy,  fortitude,  and  dogged 
perseverance,  that  we  technically  style  pluck,  which  not 
unusually  wins  the  day  against  superior  science,  and 
which  heightens  to  so  painful  a  delight  the  interest  in 
the  battle  and  the  sympathy  for  the  brave. 

"  Guard  thyself !  "  growled  Tetraides,  moving  near- 
er and  nearer  to  his  foe,  who  rather  shifted  round  him 
than  receded. 

Lydon  did  not  answer,  save  by  a  scornful  glance  of 


his  quick,  vigilant  eye.  Tetraides  struck — it  was  as 
the  blow  of  a  smith  on  a  vice ;  Lydon  sank  suddenly 
on  one  knee — the  blow  passed  over  his  head.  Not  so 
harmless  was  Lydon's  retaliation:  he  quickly  sprung 
to  his  feet,  and  aimed  his  cestus  full  on  the  broad  breast 
of  his  antagonist.  Tetraides  reeled — the  populace 
shouted. 

"  You  are  unlucky  to-day,"  said  Lepidus  to  Clodius : 
"  you  have  lost  one  bet — you  will  lose  another." 

"  By  the  gods !  my  bronzes  go  to  the  auctioneer  if 
that  is  the  case.  I  have  no  less  than  a  hundred  ses- 
tertia  *  upon  Tetraides.  Ha,  ha !  see  how  he  rallies ! 
That  was  a  home  stroke,  he  has  cut  open  Lydon's 
shoulder. — A  Tetraides ! — a  Tetraides !  " 

"  But  Lydon  is  not  disheartened.  By  Pollux !  how 
well  he  keeps  his  temper.  See  how  dexterously  he 
avoids  those  hammer-like  hands ! — dodging  now  here, 
now  there — circling  round  and  round.  Ah,  poor  Ly- 
don !  he  has  it  again." 

"  Three  to  one  still  on  Tetraides !  What  say  you, 
Lepidus  ?  " 

"  Well,  nine  sestertia  to  three — be  it  so !     What ! 

again,  Lydon?     He  stops — he  gasps  for  breath.    By 

the  gods,  he  is  down!     No — he  is  again  on  his  legs. 

Brave  Lydon!     Tetraides  is  encouraged — he  laughs 

/  loud — he  rushes  on  him." 

"  Fool — success  blinds  him — he  should  be  cautious. 
Lydon's  eye  is  like  a  lynx's !  "  said  Clodius,  between 
his  teeth. 

"  Ha,  Clodius !  you  saw  that  ?  Your  man  totters ! 
Another  blow — he  falls — he  falls !  " 

"  Earth  revives  him,  then.  He  is  once  more  up ;  but 
the  blood  rolls  down  his  face." 

1  Above  £800. 


486        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  By  the  thunderer !  Lydon  wins  it.  See  how  he 
presses  on  him !  That  blow  on  the  temple  would  have 
crushed  an  ox ;  it  has  crushed  Tetraides.  He  falls 
•again — he  cannot  move — habet! — habct!  " 

"  Habct!  "  repeated  Pansa.  "  Take  them  out  and 
give  them  the  armour  and  swords." 

"  Noble  editor,"  said  the  officers,  "  we  fear  that  Tet- 
raides will  not  recover  in  time ;  howbeit,  we  will  try." 

"  Do  so." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  officers  who  had  dragged  off 
the  stunned  and  insensible  gladiator,  returned  with 
rueful  countenances.  They  feared  for  his  life ;  he  was 
utterly  incapacitated  from  re-entering  the  arena. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Pansa,  "  hold  Lydon  a  subditius;. 
and  the  first  gladiator  that  is  vanquished,  let  Lydon 
supply  his  place  with  the  victor." 

The  people  shouted  their  applause  at  this  sentence: 
then  they  again  sunk  into  deep  silence.  The  trumpet 
sounded  loudly.  The  four  combatants  stood  each 
against  each  in  prepared  and  stern  array. 

"  Dost  thou  recognise  the  Romans,  my  Clodius  ?  are 
they  among  the  celebrated,  or  are  they  merely  ordi- 
nariif  " 

"  Eumolpus  is  a  good  second-rate  swordsman,  my 
Lepidus.  Nepimus,  the  lesser  man,  I  have  never  seen 
before ;  but  he  is  the  son  of  one  of  the  imperial  fiscales,1 
and  brought  up  in  a  proper  school ;  doubtless  they  will 
show  sport,  but  I  have  no  heart  for  the  game;  I  can- 
not win  back  my  money — I  am  undone.  Curses  on 
that  Lydon !  who  could  have  supposed  he  was  so  dex- 
terous or  so  lucky  ?  " 

"  Well,  Clodius,  shall  I  take  compassion  on  you,  and 
accept  your  own  terms  with  these  Romans  ?  " 
1  Gladiators  maintained  by  the  emperor. 


"  An  even  ten  sestertia  on  Eumolpus,  then  ?  " 

"  What !  when  Nepimus  is  untried  ?  Nay,  nay ;  that 
is  too  bad." 

"Well— ten  to  eight?" 

"  Agreed." 

While  the  contest  in  the  amphitheatre  had  thus 
commenced,  there  was  one  in  the  loftier  benches  for 
whom  it  had  assumed,  indeed,  a  poignant — a  stifling 
interest.  The  aged  father  of  Lydon,  despite  his  Chris- 
tian horror  of  the  spectacle,  in  his  agonised  anxiety  for 
his  son,  had  not  been  able  to  resist  being  the  spectator 
of  his  fate.  One  amidst  a  fierce  crowd  of  strangers — 
the  lowest  rabble  of  the  populace — the  old  man  saw, 
felt  nothing,  but  the  form — the  presence  of  his  brave 
son !  Not  a  sound  had  escaped  his  lips  when  twice  he 
had  seen  him  fall  to  the  earth; — only  he  had  turned 
paler,  and  his  limbs  trembled.  But  he  had  uttered  one 
low  cry  when  he  saw  him  victorious,  unconscious,  alas ! 
of  the  more  fearful  battle  to  which  that  victory  was 
but  a  prelude. 

"  My  gallant  boy !  "  said  he,  and  wiped  his  eyes. 

"  Is  he  thy  son  ?  "  said  a  brawny  fellow  to  the  right 
of  the  Nazarene ;  "  he  has  fought  well :  let  us  see  how 
he  does  by  and  by.  Hark !  he  is  to  fight  the  first  vic- 
tor. Now,  old  boy,  pray  the  gods  that  that  victor  be 
neither  of  the  Romans !  nor,  next^  to  them,  the  giant 
Niger." 

The  old  man  sat  down  again  and  covered  his  face. 
The  fray  for  the  moment  was  indifferent  to  him — Ly- 
don was  not  one  of  the  combatants.  Yet — yet — the 
thought  flashed  across  him — the  fray  was  indeed  of 
deadly  interest — the  first  who  fell  was  to  make  way 
for  Lydon !  He  started,  and  bent  down,  with  straining 
eyes  and  clasped  hands  to  view  the  encounter. 


488        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

The  first  interest  was  attracted  towards  the  combat 
of  Niger  with  Sporus ;  for  this  species  of  contest,  from 
the  fatal  result  which  usually  attended  it,  and  from  the 
great  science  it  required  in  either  antagonist,  was  al- 
ways peculiarly  inviting  to  the  spectators. 

They  stood  at  a  considerable  distance  from  each 
other.  The  singular  helmet  which  Sporus  wore  (the 
vizor  of  which  was  down)  concealed  his  face;  but  the 
features  of  Niger  attracted  a  fearful  and  universal  in- 
terest from  their  compressed  and  vigilant  ferocity. 
Thus  they  stood  for  some  moments,  each  eying  each, 
until  Sporus  began  slowly,  and  with  great  caution,  to 
advance,  holding  his  sword  pointed,  like  a  modern 
fencer's,  at  the  breast  of  his  foe.  Niger  retreated  as 
his  antagonist  advanced,  gathering  up  his  net  with  his 
right  hand,  and  never  taking  his  small  glittering  eye 
from  the  movements  of  the  swordsman.  Suddenly 
when  Sporus  had  approached  nearly  at  arm's  length, 
the  retiarius  threw  himself  forward,  and  cast  his  net. 
A  quick  inflection  of  body  saved  the  gladiator  from 
the  deadly  snare!  he  uttered  a  sharp  cry  of  joy  and 
rage,  and  rushed  upon  Niger:  but  Niger  had  already 
drawn  in  his  net,  thrown  it  across  his  shoulders,  and 
now  fled  round  the  lists  with  a  swiftness  which  the 
.  secutor *  in  vain  endeavoured  to  equal.  The  people 
laughed  and  shouted  aloud,  to  see  the  ineffectual  ef- 
forts of  the  broad-shouldered  gladiator  to  overtake  the 
flying  giant :  when,  at  that  moment,  their  attention  was 
turned  from  these  to  the  two  Roman  combatants. 

They  had  placed  themselves  at  the  onset  face  to  face, 
at  the  distance  of  modern  fencers  from  each  other :  but 

1  So  called,  from  the  office  of  that  tribe  of  gladiators,  in 
following  the  foe  the  moment  the  net  was  cast,  in  order  to 
smite  him  ere  he  could  have  time  to  rearrange  it. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        489 

the  extreme  caution  which  both  evinced  at  first  had 
prevented  any  warmth  of  engagement,  and  allowed  the 
spectators  full  leisure  to  interest  themselves  in  the  bat- 
tle between  Sporus  and  his  foe.  But  the  Romans  were 
now  heated  into  full  and  fierce  encounter :  they  pushed 
— returned — advanced  on — retreated  from — each  other 
with  all  that  careful  yet  scarcely  perceptible  caution 
which  characterises  men  well  experienced  and  equally 
matched.  But  at  this  moment,  Eumolpus,  the  elder 
gladiator,  by  that  dexterous  back-stroke  which  was 
considered  in  the  arena  so  difficult  to  avoid,  had 
wounded  Nepimus  in  the  side.  The  people  shouted; 
Lepidus  turned  pale. 

"  Ho !  "  said  Clodius,  "  the  game  is  nearly  over.  If 
Eumolpus  fights  now  the  quiet  fight,  the  other  will 
gradually  bleed  himself  away." 

"  But,  thank  the  gods !  he  does  not  fight  the  back- 
ward fight.  See ! — he  presses  hard  upon  Nepimus.  By 
Mars !  but  Nepimus  had  him  there !  the  helmet  rang 
again  ! — Clodius,  I  shall  win !  " 

"  Why  do  I  ever  bet  but  at  the  dice  ?  "  groaned  Clo- 
dius to  himself ; — "  or  why  cannot  one  cog  a  gladia- 
tor?" 

"  A  Sporus ! — a  Sporus !  "  shouted  the  populace,  as 
Niger  having  now  suddenly  paused,  had  again  cast 
his  net,  and  again  unsuccessfully.  He  had  not  re- 
treated this  time  with  sufficient  agility — the  sword  of 
Sporus  had  inflicted  a  severe  wound  upon  his  right 
leg;  and,  incapacitated  to  fly,  he  was  pressed  hard  by 
the  fierce  swordsman.  His  great  height  and  length 
of  arm  still  continued,  however,  to  give  him  no  de- 
spicable advantages;  and  steadily  keeping  his  trident 
at  the  front  of  his  foe,  he  repelled  him  successfully 
for  several  minutes.  Sporus  now  tried,  by  great 


490        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

rapidity  of  evolution,  to  get  round  his  antagonist,  who 
necessarily  moved  with  pain  and  slowness.  In  so  do- 
ing, he  lost  his'  caution — he  advanced  too  near  to  the 
giant — raised  his  arm  to  strike,  and  received  the  three 
points  of  the  fatal  spear  full  in  his  breast!  He  sank 
on  his  knee.  In  a  moment  more,  the  deadly  net  was 
cast  over  him,  he  struggled  against  its  meshes  in  vain ; 
again — again — again  he  writhed  mutely  beneath  the 
fresh  strokes  of  the  trident — his  blood  flowed  fast 
through  the  net  and  redly  over  the  sand.  He  lowered 
his  arms  in  acknowledgment  of  defeat. 

The  conquering  retiarius  withdrew  his  net,  and 
leaning  on  his  spear,  looked  to  the  audience  for  their 
judgment.  Slowly,  too,  at  the  same  moment,  the  van- 
quished gladiator  rolled  his  dim  and  despairing  eyes 
around  the  theatre.  From  row  to  row,  from  bench  to 
bench,  there  glared  upon  him  but  merciless  and  un- 
pitying  eyes. 

Hushed  was  the  roar — the  murmur !  The  silence  was 
dread,  for  in  it  was  no  sympathy ;  not  a  hand — no,  not 
even  a  woman's  hand — gave  the  signal  of  charity  and 
life!  Sporus  had  never  been  popular  in  the  arena; 
and,  lately,  the  interest  of  the  combat  had  been  excited 
on  behalf  of  the  wounded  Niger.  The  people  were 
warmed  into  blood — the  mimic  fight  had  ceased  to 
charm;  the  interest  had  mounted  up  to  the  desire  of 
sacrifice  and  the  thirst  of  death ! 

The  gladiator  felt  that  his  doom  was  sealed:  he 
uttered  no  prayer — no  groan.  The  people  gave  the 
signal  of  death!  In  dogged  but  agonised  submission, 
he  bent  his  neck  to  receive  the  fatal  stroke.  And  now, 
as  the  spear  of  the  retiarius  was  not  a  weapon  to  in- 
flict instant  and  certain  death,  there  stalked  into  the 
arena  a  grim  and  fatal  form,  brandishing  a  short,  sharp 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        491 

sword,  and  with  features  utterly  concealed  beneath  its 
vizor.  With  slow  and  measured  steps,  this  dismal 
headsman  approached  the  gladiator,  still  kneeling — 
laid  the  left  hand  on  his  humbled  crest — drew  the  edge 
of  the  blade  across  his  neck — turned  round  to  the  as- 
sembly, lest,  in  the  last  moment,  remorse  should  come1 
upon  them;  the  dread  signal  continued  the  same:  the 
blade  glittered  brightly  in  the  air — fell — and  the  glad- 
iator rolled  upon  the  sand ;  his  limbs  quivered — were 
still, — he  was  a  corpse.1 

His  body  was  dragged  at  once  from  the  arena 
through  the  gate  of  death,  and  thrown  into  the  gloomy 
den  termed  technically  the  spoliarium.  And  ere  it  had 
well  reached  that  destination,  the  strife  between  the  re- 
maining combatants  was  decided.  The  sword  of 
Eumolpus  had  inflicted  the  death-wound  upon  the  less 
experienced  combatant.  A  new  victim  was  added  to 
the  receptacle  of  the  slain. 

Throughout  that  mighty  assembly  there  now  ran  a 
universal  movement ;  the  people  breathed  more  freely, 
and  resettled  themselves  in  their  seats.  A  grateful 
shower  was  cast  over  every  row  from  the  concealed 
conduits.  In  cool  and  luxurious  pleasure  they  talked 
over  the  late  spectacle  of  blood.  Eumolpus  removed 
his  helmet,  and  wiped  his  brows ;  his  close-curled  hair 
and  short  beard,  his  noble  Roman  features  and  bright 
dark  eye  attracted  the  general  admiration.  He  was 
fresh,  unwounded,  unfatigued. 

The  editor  paused,  and  proclaimed  aloud  that,  as 
Niger's  wound  disabled  him  from  again  entering  the 
arena,  Lydon  was  to  be  the  successor  to  the  slaughtered 
Nepimus,  and  the  new  combatant  of  Eumolpus. 

1  See  the  engraving  from  the  friezes  of  Pompeii,  in  the  work 
on  that  city  published  in  the  "  Library  of  Entertaining  Knowl- 
edge," vol.  ii.  p.  211. 


492        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Yet  Lydon,"  added  he,  "  if  thou  wouldst  decline 
the  combat  with  one  so  brave  and  tried,  thou  mayst 
have  full  liberty  to  do  so.  Eumolpus  is  not  the  an- 
tagonist that  was  originally  decreed  for  thee.  Thou 
knowest  best  how  far  thou  canst  cope  with  him.  If 
thou  failest,  thy  doom  is  honourable  death ;  if  thou  con- 
querest,  out  of  my  own  purse  I  will  double  the  stipu- 
lated prize." 

The  people  shouted  applause.  Lydon  stood  in  the 
lists,  he  gazed  around ;  high  above  he  beheld  the  pale 
face,  the  straining  eyes,  of  his  father.  He  turned 
away  irresolute  for  a  moment.  No !  the  conquest  of 
the  cestus  was  not  sufficient — he  had  not  yet  won  the 
prize  of  victory — his  father  was  still  a  slave ! 

"  Noble  aedile !  "  he  replied,  in  a  firm  and  deep  tone, 
"  I  shrink  not  from  this  combat.  For  the  honour  of 
Pompeii,  I  demand  that  one  trained  by  its  long-cele- 
brated lanista  shall  do  battle  with  this  Roman." 

The  people  shouted  louder  than  before. 

"  Four  to  one  against  Lydon !  "  said  Clodius  to  Lepi- 
dus. 

"  I  would  not  take  twenty  to  one !  Why,  Eumolpus 
is  a  very  Achilles,  and  this  poor  fellow  is  but  a  tiro! " 

Eumolpus  gazed  hard  on  the  face  of  Lydon ;  he 
smiled:  yet  the  smile  was  followed  by  a  slight  and 
scarce  audible  sigh — a  touch  of  compassionate  emo- 
tion, which  custom  conquered  the  moment  the  heart  ac- 
knowledged it. 

And  now  both,  clad  in  complete  armour,  the  sword 
drawn,  the  vizor  closed,  the  two  last  combatants  of  the 
arena  (ere  man,  at  least,  was  matched  with  beast) 
stood  opposed  to  each  other. 

It  was  just  at  this  time  that  a  letter  was  delivered  to 
the  praetor  by  one  of  the  attendants  of  the  arena;  he 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        493 

removed  the  cincture — glanced  over  it  for  a  moment — 
his  countenance  betrayed  surprise  and  embarrassment. 
He  re-read  the  letter,  and  then  muttering, — "  Tush !  it 
is  impossible ! — the  man  must  be  drunk,  even  in  the 
morning,  to  dream  of  such  follies !  " — threw  it  care- 
lessly aside,  and  gravely  settled  himself  once  more  in 
the  attitude  of  attention  to  the  sports. 

The  interest  of  the  public  was  wound  up  very  high. 
Eumolpus  had  at  first  won  their  favour;  but  the  gal- 
lantry of  Lydon,  and  his  well-timed  allusion  to  the 
honour  of  the  Pompeian  lanista,  had  afterwards  given 
the  latter  the  preference  in  their  eyes. 

"  Holla,  old  fellow !  "  said  Medon's  neighbour  to 
him,  "  your  son  is  hardly  matched ;  but  never  fear,  the 
editor  will  not  permit  him  to  be  slain — no,  nor  the  peo- 
ple neither ;  he  has  behaved  too  bravely  for  that.  Ha ! 
that  was  a  home  thrust ! — well  averted,  by  Pollux !  At 
him  again,  Lydon! — they  stop  to  breathe!  What  art 
thou  muttering,  old  boy  ?  " 

"  Prayers!  "  answered  Medon,  with  a  more  calm  and 
hopeful  mien  than  he  had  yet  maintained. 

"  Prayers ! — trifles !  The  time  for  gods  to  carry  a 
man  away  in  a  cloud  is  gone  now !  Ha !  Jupiter ! — 
what  a  blow !  Thy  side — thy  side ! — take  care  of  thy 
side,  Lydon !  " 

There  was  a  convulsive  tremor  throughout  the  as- 
sembly. A  fierce  blow  from  Eumolpus,  full  on  the 
crest,  had  brought  Lydon  to  his  knee. 

"  Habet! — he  has  it!"  cried  a  shrill  female  voice; 
"  he  has  it !  " 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  girl  who  had  so  anxiously  an- 
ticipated the  sacrifice  of  some  criminal  to  the  beasts. 

"  Be  silent,  child !  "  said  the  wife  of  Pansa,  haugh- 
tily. "  Non  habct! — he  is  not  wounded!  " 


494        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  I  wish  he  were,  if  only  to  spite  old  surly  Medon," 
muttered  the  girl. 

Meanwhile  Lydon,  who  had  hitherto  defended  him- 
self with  great  skill  and  valour,  began  to  give  way  be- 
fore the  vigorous  assaults  of  the  practised  Roman ;  his 
arm  grew  tired,  his  eye  dizzy,  he  breathed  hard  and 
painfully.  The  combatants  paused  again  for  breath. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Eumolpus,  in  a  low  voice,  "  de- 
sist ;  I  will  wound  thee  slightly — then  lower  thy  arms ; 
thou  hast  propitiated  the  editor  and  the  mob — thou  wilt 
be  honourably  saved." 

"  And  my  father  still  enslaved !  "  groaned  Lydon  to 
himself.  "  No !  death  or  his  freedom." 

At  that  thought,  and  seeing  that,  his  strength  not 
being  equal  to  the  endurance  of  the  Roman,  everything 
depended  on  a  sudden  and  desperate  effort,  he  threw 
himself  fiercely  on  Eumolpus ;  the  Roman  warily  re- 
treated— Lydon  thrust  again — Eumolpus  drew  himself 
aside — the  sword  grazed  his  cuirass — Lydon's  breast 
was  exposed — the  Roman  plunged  his  sword  through 
the  joints  of  the  armour,  not  meaning,  however,  to  in- 
flict a  deep  wound ;  Lydon,  weak  and  exhausted,  fell 
forward,  fell  right  on  the  point :  it  passed  through  and 
through,  even  to  the  back.  Eumolpus  drew  forth  his 
blade ;  Lydon  still  made  an  effort  to  regain  his  balance 
— his  sword  left  his  grasp — he  struck  mechanically  at 
the  gladiator  with  his  naked  hand,  and  fell  prostrate  en 
the  arena.  With  one  accord,  editor  and  assembly  made 
the  signal  of  mercy — the  officers  of  the  arena  ap- 
proached— they  took  off  the  helmet  of  the  vanquished. 
He  still  breathed;  his  eyes  rolled  fiercely  on  his  foe; 
the  savageness  he  had  acquired  in  his  calling  glared 
from  his  gaze,  and  lowered  upon  the  brow  darkened 
already  with  the  shades  of  death ;  then,  with  a  convul- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        495 

sive  groan,  with  a  half  start,  he  lifted  his  eyes  above. 
They  rested  not  on  the  face  of  the  editor  nor  on  the 
pitying  brows  of  his  relenting  judges.  He  saw  them 
not;  they  were  as  if  the  vast  space  was  desolate  and 
bare ;  one  pale  agonising  face  alone  was  all  he  recog- 
nised— one  cry  of  a  broken  heart  was  all  that,  amidst 
the  murmurs  and  the  shouts  of  the  populace,  reached 
his  ear.  The  ferocity  vanished  from  his  brow :  a  soft, 
a  tender  expression  of  sanctifying  but  despairing  filial 
love  played  over  his  features — played — waned — dark- 
ened !  His  face  suddenly  became  locked  and  rigid,  re- 
suming its  former  fierceness.  He  fell  upon  the  earth. 

"  Look  to  him,"  said  the  asdile ;  "  he  has  done  his 
duty !  " 

The  officers  dragged  him  off  to  the  spoliarium. 

"  A  true  type  of  glory,  and  of  its  fate !  "  murmured 
Arbaces  to  himself;  and  his  eye,  glancing  round  the 
amphitheatre,  betrayed  so  much  of  disdain  and  scorn, 
that  whoever  encountered  it  felt  his  breath  suddenly 
arrested,  and  his  emotions  frozen  into  one  sensation  of 
abasement  and  of  awe. 

Again  rich  perfumes  were  wafted  around  the  thea- 
tre ;  the  attendants  sprinkled  fresh  sand  over  the  arena. 

"  Bring  forth  the  lion  and  Glaucus  the  Athenian," 
said  the  editor. 

And  a  deep  and  breathless  hush  of  overwrought  in- 
terest, and  intense  (yet  strange  to  say,  not  unpleas- 
mg)  terror  lay,  like  a  mighty  and  awful  dream,  over 
the  assembly. 


496        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 
CHAPTER   III 

SALLUST   AND    NYDIA's    LETTER. 

Thrice  had  Sallust  awakened  from  his  morning 
sleep,  and  thrice,  recollecting  that  his  friend  was  that 
day  to  perish,  had  he  turned  himself  with  a  deep  sigh 
once  more  to  court  oblivion.  His  sole  object  in  life 
was  to  avoid  pain ;  and  where  he  could  not  avoid,  at 
least  to  forget  it. 

At  length,  unable  any  longer  to  steep  his  conscience 
in  slumber,  he  raised  himself  from  his  recumbent 
posture,  and  discovered  his  favourite  freedman  sitting 
by  his  bedside  as  usual ;  for  Sallust,  who,  as  I  have 
said,  had  a  gentleman-like  taste  for  the  polite  letters, 
was  accustomed  to  be  read  to  for  an  hour  or  so  pre- 
vious to  his  rising  in  the  morning. 

"  No  books  to-day !  no  more  Tibullus !  no  more  Pin- 
dar for  me !  Pindar !  alas,  alas !  the  very  name  recalls 
those  games  to  which  our  arena  is  the  savage  successor. 
Has  it  begun — the  amphitheatre?  are  its  rites  com- 
menced ?  " 

"  Long  since,  O  Sallust !  Did  you  not  hear  the  trum- 
pets and  the  trampling  feet  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay ;  but  the  gods  be  thanked,  I  was  drowsy, 
and  had  only  to  turn  round  to  fall  asleep  again." 

"  The  gladiators  must  have  been  long  in  the  ring." 

"  The  wretches !  None  of  my  people  have  gone  to 
the  spectacle  ?  " 

"  Assuredly  not ;  your  orders  were  too  strict." 

"  That  is  well — would  the  day  were  over !  What  is 
that  letter  yonder  on  the  able  ?  " 

"  That !  Oh,  the  letter  brought  to  you  last  night, 
when  you  were  too — too " 


497 

"  Drunk  to  read  it,  I  suppose.  No  matter,  it  cannot 
be  of  much  importance." 

"  Shall  I  open  it  for  you,  Sallust?  " 

"  Do :  anything  to  divert  my  thoughts.  Poor  Glau- 
cus !  " 

The  freedman  opened  the  letter.  "  What!  Greek?  " 
said  he :  "  some  learned  lady,  I  suppose."  He  glanced 
over  the  letter,  and  for  some  moments  the  irregular 
lines  traced  by  the  blind  girl's  hand  puzzled  him.  Sud- 
denly, however,  his  countenance  exhibited  emotion 
and  surprise.  "  Good  gods !  noble  Sallust !  what  have 
'we  done  not  to  attend  to  this  before?  Hear  me  read! 

" '  Nydia,  the  slave,  to  Sallust,  the  friend  of  Glau- 
cus !  I  am  a  prisoner  in  the  house  of  Arbaces.  Hasten 
to  the  praetor!  procure  my  release,  and  we  shall  yet 
save  Glaucus  from  the  lion.  There  is  another  pris- 
oner within  these  walls,  whose  witness  can  exonerate 
the  Athenian  from  the  charge  against  him ; — one  who 
saw  the  crime — who  can  prove  the  criminal  in  a  villain 
hitherto  unsuspected.  Fly  !  hasten !  quick  !  quick ! 
Bring  with  you  armed  men,  lest  resistance  be  made, 
and  a  cunning  and  dexterous  smith ;  for  the  dungeon 
of  my  fellow-prisoner  is  thick  and  strong.  Oh !  by  thy 
right  hand,  and  thy  father's  ashes,  lose  not  a  mo- 
ment ! '  " 

"Great  Jove!"  exclaimed  Sallust,  starting,  "and 
this  day — nay,  within  this  hour,  perhaps,  he  dies. 
What  is  to  be  done  ?  I  will  instantly  to  the  praetor." 

"  Nay ;  not  so.  The  praetor  (as  well  as  Pansa,  the 
editor  himself)  is  the  creature  of  the  mob;  and  the 
mob  will  not  hear  of  delay ;  they  will  not  be  balked  in 
the  very  moment  of  expectation.  Besides,  the  pub- 
licity of  the  appeal  would  forewarn  the  cunning  Egyp- 
tian. It  is  evident  that  he  has  some  interest  in  these 
32 


498        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

concealments.     No;  fortunately,  thy  slaves  are  in  thy 
house." 

"  I  seize  thy  meaning,"  interrupted  Sallust ;  "  arm 
the  slaves  instantly.  The  streets  are  empty.  We  will 
ourselves  hasten  to  the  house  of  Arbaces,  and  release 
the  prisoners.  Quick !  quick !  What  ho !  Davus  there ! 
My  gown  and  sandals,  the  papyrus  and  a  reed.1  I  will 
write  to  the  praetor,  to  beseech  him  to  delay  the  sen- 
tence of  Glaucus,  for  that,  within  an  hour,  we  may  yet 
prove  him  innocent.  So,  so ;  that  is  well.  Hasten  with 
this,  Davus,  to  the  praetor,  at  the  amphitheatre.  See  it 
given  to  his  own  hand.  Now  then,  O  ye  gods !  whose 
providence  Epicurus  denied,  befriend  me,  and  I  will 
call  Epicurus  a  liar !  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    AMPHITHEATRE    ONCE    MORE. 

Glaucus  and  Olinthus  had  been  placed  together  in 
that  gloomy  and  narrow  cell  in  which  the  criminals  of 
the  arena  awaited  their  last  and  fearful  struggle.  Their 
eyes,  of  late  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  scanned  the 
faces  of  each  other  in  this  awful  hour,  and  by  that  dim 
light,  the  paleness,  which  chased  away  the  natural  hues 
from  either  cheek,  assumed  a  yet  more  ashy  and  ghastly 
whiteness.  Yet  their  brows  were  erect  and  dauntless 
— their  limbs  did  not  tremble — their  lips  were  com- 
pressed and  rigid.  The  religion  of  the  one,  the  pride 
of  the  other,  the  conscious  innocence  of  both,  and,  it 

1  The  reed  (calamus)  was  used  for  writing  on  papyrus  and 
parchment ;  the  stilus  for  writing  on  waxen  tablets,  plates  of 
metal,  &c.  Letters  were  written  sometimes  on  tablets,  some- 
times on  papyrus. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        499 

may  be,  the  support  derived  from  their  mutual  com- 
panionship, elevated  the  victim  into  the  hero. 

"-  Hark  !  hearest  thou  that  shout  ?  They  are  growl- 
ing over  their  human  blood,"  said  Olinthus. 

"  I  hear ;  my  heart  grows  sick ;  but  the  gods  support 
me." 

"  The  gods !  O  rash  young  man !  in  this  hour  recog- 
nise only  the  One  God.  Have  I  not  taught  thee  in  the 
dungeon,  wept  for  thee,  prayed  for  thee? — in  my  zeal 
and  in  my  agony,  have  I  not  thought  more  of  thy  sal- 
vation than  my  own  ?  " 

"  Brave  friend !  "  answered  Glaucus,  solemnly,  "  I 
have  listened  to  thee  with  awe,  with  wonder,  and  with 
a  secret  tendency  towards  conviction.  Had  our  lives 
been  spared,  I  might  gradually  have  weaned  myself 
from  the  tenets  of  my  own  faith,  and  inclined  to  thine ; 
but,  in  this  last  hour,  it  were  a  craven  thing,  and  a  base, 
to  yield  to  hasty  terror  what  should  only  be  the  result 
of  lengthened  meditation.  Were  I  to  embrace  thy 
creed  and  cast  down  my  father's  gods,  should  I  not  be 
bribed  by  thy  promise  of  heaven,  or  awed  by  thy 
threats  of  hell  ?  Olinthus,  no !  Think  we  of  each  other 
with  equal  charity — I  honouring  thy  sincerity — thou 
pitying  my  blindness  or  my  obdurate  courage.  As 
have  been  my  deeds,  such  will  be  my  reward ;  and  the 
Power  or  Powers  above  will  not  judge  harshly  of  hu- 
man error,  when  it  is  linked  with  honesty  of  purpose 
and  truth  of  heart.  Speak  we  no  more  of  this.  Hush ! 
Dost  thou  hear  them  drag  yon  heavy  body  through  the 
passage?  Such  as  that  clay  will  be  ours  soon." 

"  O  Heaven  !  O  Christ !  already  I  behold  ye !  "  cried 
the  fervent  Olinthus,  lifting  up  his  hands ;  "  I  tremble 
not — I  rejoice  that  the  prison-house  shall  be  soon 
broken." 


500        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

Glaucus  bowed  his  head  in  silence.  He  felt  the  dis- 
tinction between  his  fortitude  and  that  of  his  fellow- 
sufferer.  The  heathen  did  not  tremble ;  but  the  Chris- 
tian exulted. 

The  door  swung  gratingly  back — the  gleam  of 
spears  shot  along  the  walls. 

"  Glaucus  the  Athenian,  thy  time  has  come,"  said  a 
loud  and  clear  voice ;  "  the  lion  awaits  thee." 

"  I  am  ready,"  said  the  Athenian.  "  Brother  and  co~ 
mate,  one  last  embrace !  Bless  me — and  farewell !  " 

The  Christian  opened  his  arms — he  clasped  the 
young  heathen  to  his  breast — he  kissed  his  forehead 
and  cheek — he  sobbed  aloud — his  tears  flowed  fast  and 
hot  over  the  features  of  his  new  friend. 

"  Oh !  could  I  have  converted  thee,  I  had  not  wept. 
Oh !  that  I  might  say  to  thee,  '  We  two  shall  sup  this 
night  in  Paradise  ! ' ' 

"  It  may  be  so  yet,"  answered  the  Greek,  with  a 
tremulous  voice.  "  They  whom  death  part  not,  may 
meet  yet  beyond  the  grave :  on  the  earth — on  the  beau- 
tiful, the  beloved  earth,  farewell  for  ever! — Worthy 
officer,  I  attend  you." 

Glaucus  tore  himself  away ;  and  when  he  came  forth 
into  the  air,  its  breath,  which,  though  sunless,  was  hot 
and  arid,  smote  witheringly  upon  him.  His  frame,  not 
yet  restored  from  the  effects  of  the  deadly  draught, 
shrank  and  trembled.  The  officers  supported  him. 

"  Courage !  "  said  one ;  "  thou  art  young,  active,  well 
knit.  They  give  thee  a  weapon !  despair  not,  and  thou 
mayst  yet  conquer." 

Glaucus  did  not  reply ;  but,  ashamed  of  his  infirmity, 
he  made  a  desperate  and  convulsive  effort,  and  re- 
gained the  firmness  of  his  nerves.  They  anointed  his 
body,  completely  naked,  save  by  a  cincture  round  the 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         501 

loins,  placed  the  stilus  (vain  weapon !)  in  his  hand,  and 
led  him  into  the  arena. 

And  now  when  the  Greek  saw  the  eyes  of  thousands 
and  tens  of  thousands  upon  him,  he  no  longer  felt 
that  he  was  mortal.  All  evidence  of  fear — all  fear 
itself — was  gone.  A  red  and  haughty  flush  spread 
over  the  paleness  of  his  features — he  towered  aloft  to 
the  full  of  his  glorious  stature.  In  the  elastic  beauty 
of  his  limbs  and  form,  in  his  intent  but  frowning  brow, 
in  the  high  disdain,  and  in  the  indomitable  soul,  which 
breathed  visibly,  which  spoke  audibly,  from  his  atti- 
tude, his  lip,  his  eye, — he  seemed  the  very  incarnation, 
vivid  and  corporeal,  of  the  valour  of  his  land — of  the 
divinity  of  its  worship — at  once  a  hero  and  a  god ! 

The  murmur  of  hatred  and  horror  at  his  crime, 
which  had  greeted  his  entrance,  died  into  the  silence 
of  involuntary  admiration  and  half-compassionate  re- 
spect; and,  with  a  quick  and  convulsive  sigh,  that 
seemed  to  move  the  whole  mass  of  life  as  if  it  were  one 
body,  the  gaze  of  the  spectators  turned  from  the  Athe- 
nian to  a  dark  uncouth  object  in  the  centre  of  the 
arena.  It  was  the  grated  den  of  the  lion ! 

"  By  Venus,  how  warm  it  is !  "  said  Fulvia ;  "  yet 
there  is  no  sun.  Would  that  those  stupid  sailors  * 
could  have  fastened  up  that  gap  in  the  awning !  " 

"  Oh !  it  is  warm,  indeed.  I  turn  sick — I  faint !  " 
said  the  wife  of  Pansa:  even  her  experienced  stoicism 
giving  way  at  the  struggle  about  to  take  place. 

The  lion  had  been  kept  without  food  for  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  the  animal  had,  during  the  whole 
morning,  testified  a  singular  and  restless  uneasiness, 
which  the  keeper  had  attributed  to  the  pangs  of  hun- 

1  Sailors  were  generally  employed  in  fastening  the  velaria 
of  the  amphitheatre. 


502        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

ger.  Yet  its  bearing  seemed  rather  that  of  fear  than 
of  rage ;  its-  roar  was  painful  and  distressed ;  it  hung 
its  head — snuffed  the  air  through  the  bars — then  lay 
down — started  again — and  again  uttered  its  wild  and 
far-resounding  cries.  And  now,  in  its  den,  it  lay  utterly 
dumb  and  mute,  with  distended  nostrils  forced  hard 
against  the  grating,  and  disturbing,  with  a  heavy 
breath,  the  sand  below  on  the  arena. 

The  editor's  lip  quivered,  and  his  cheek  grew  pale; 
he  looked  anxiously  around — hesitated — delayed ;  the 
crowd  became  impatient.  Slowly  he  gave  the  signal ; 
the  keeper,  who  was  behind  the  den,  cautiously  re- 
moved the  grating,  and  the  lion  leaped  forth  with  a 
mighty  and  glad  roar  of  release.  The  keeper  hastily 
retreated  through  the  grated  passage  leading  from  the 
arena,  and  left  the  lord  of  the  forest — and  his  prey. 

Glaucus  had  bent  his  limbs  so  as  to  give  himself  the 
firmest  posture  at  the  expected  rush  of  the  lion,  with 
his  small  and  shining  weapon  raised  on  high,  in  the 
faint  hope  that  one  well-directed  thrust  (for  he  knew 
that  he  should  have  time  but  for  one)  might  penetrate 
through  the  eye  to  the  brain  of  his  grim  foe. 

But,  to  the  unutterable  astonishment  of  all,  the  beast 
seemed  not  even  aware  of  the  presence  of  the  criminal. 

At  the  first  moment  of  its  release  it  halted  abruptly 
in  the  arena,  raised  itself  half  on  end,  snuffing  the  up- 
ward air  with  impatient  sighs ;  then  suddenly  it  sprang 
forward,  but  not  on  the  Athenian.  At  half-speed  it 
circled  round  and  round  the  space,  turning  its  vast 
head  from  side  to  side  with  an  anxious  and  perturbed 
gaze,  as  if  seeking  only  some  avenue  of  escape ;  once  or 
twice  it  endeavoured  to  leap  up  the  parapet  that  di- 
vided it  from  the  audience,  and,  on  failing,  uttered 
rather  a  baffled  howl  than  its  deep-toned  and  kingly 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        503 

roar.  It  evinced  no  sign,  either  of  wrath  or  hunger ; 
its  tail  drooped  along  the  sand,  instead  of  lashing  its 
gaunt  sides ;  and  its  eye,  though  it  wandered  at  times 
to  Glaucus,  rolled  again  listlessly  from  him.  At 
length,  as  if  tired  of  attempting  to  escape,  it  crept  with 
a  moan  into  its  cage,  and  once  more  laid  itself  down  to 
rest. 

The  first  surprise  of  the  assembly  at  the  apathy  of 
the  lion  soon  grew  converted  into  resentment  at  its 
cowardice ;  and  the  populace  already  merged  their  pity 
for  the  fate  of  Glaucus  into  angry  compassion  for  their 
own  disappointment. 

The  editor  called  to  the  keeper. 

"  How  is  this  ?  Take  the  goad,  prick  him  forth,  and 
then  close  the  door  of  the  den." 

As  the  keeper,  with  some  fear,  but  more  astonish- 
ment, was  preparing  to  obey,  a  loud  cry  was  heard  at 
one  of  the  entrances  of  the  arena;  there  was  a  con- 
fusion, a  bustle — voices  of  remonstrance  suddenly 
breaking  forth,  and  suddenly  silenced  at  the  reply.  All 
eyes  turned  in  wonder  at  the  interruption,  towards  the 
quarter  of  the  disturbance ;  the  crowd  gave  way,  and 
suddenly  Sallust  appeared  on  the  senatorial  benches, 
his  hair  dishevelled  —  breathless  —  heated  —  half-ex- 
hausted. He  cast  his  eyes  hastily  round  the  ring. 
"  Remove  the  Athenian,"  he  cried ;  "  haste — he  is  in- 
nocent !  Arrest  Arbaces  the  Egyptian — HE  is  the  mur- 
derer of  Apsecides!" 

"  Art  thou  mad,  O  Sallust !  "  said  the  praetor,  rising 
from  his  seat.  "  What  means  this  raving?  " 

"  Remove  the  Athenian ! — Quick !  or  his  blood  be  on 
your  head.  Praetor,  delay,  and  you  answer  with  your 
own  life  to  the  emperor !  I  bring  with  me  the  eye-wit- 
ness to  the  death  of  the  priest  Apsecides.  Room  there ! 


504        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

— stand  back ! — give  way !  People  of  Pompeii,  fix 
every  eye  upon  Arbaces — there  he  sits!  Room  there 
for  the  priest  Calenus !  " 

Pale,  haggard,  fresh  from  the  jaws  of  famine  and 
of  death,  his  face  fallen,  his  eyes  dull  as  a  vulture's, 
his  broad  frame  gaunt  as  a  skeleton, — Calenus  was 
supported  into  the  very  row  in  which  Arbaces  sat.  His 
releasers  had  given  him  sparingly  of  food ;  but  the 
chief  sustenance  that  nerved  his  feeble  limbs  was  re- 
venge ! 

"  The  priest  Calenus ! — Calenus !  "  cried  the  mob. 
"  Is  it  he  ?  No — it  is  a  dead  man !  " 

"  It  is  the  priest  Calenus,"  said  the  prsetor,  gravely. 
"  What  hast  thou  to  say  ?  " 

"  Arbaces  of  Egypt  is  the  murderer  of  Apaecides,  the 
priest  of  Isis ;  these  eyes  saw  him  deal  the  blow.  It  is 
from  the  dungeon  into  which  he  plunged  me — it  is 
from  the  darkness  and  horror  of  a  death  by  famine — 
that  the  gods  have  raised  me  to  proclaim  his  crime ! 
Release  the  Athenian — he  is  innocent !  " 

"  It  is  for  this,  then,  that  the  lion  spared  him. — A 
miracle !  a  miracle !  "  cried  Pansa. 

"  A  miracle ;  a  miracle !  "  shouted  the  people ;  "  re- 
move the  Athenian — Arbaces  to  the  lion! " 

And  that  shout  echoed  from  hill  to  vale — from  coast 
to  sea — "  Arbaces  to  the  lion!  " 

"  Officers,  remove  the  accused  Glaucus — remove, 
but  guard  him  yet,"  said  the  praetor.  "  The  gods  lavish 
their  wonders  upon  this  day." 

As  the  praetor  gave  the  word  of  release,  there  was  a 
cry  of  joy — a  female  voice — a  child's  voice — and  it  was 
of  joy!  It  rang  through  the  heart  of  the  assembly 
with  electric  force — it  was  touching,  it  was  holy,  that 
child's  voice!  And  the  populace  echoed  it  back  with 
sympathising  congratulation ! 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         505 

"  Silence,"  said  the  grave  praetor — "  who  is  there  ?  " 

"The  blind  girl — Nydia,"  answered  Sallust;  "it  is 
her  hand  that  has  raised  Calenus  from  the  grave,  and 
delivered  Glaucus  from  the  lion." 

"  Of  this  hereafter,"  said  the  praetor.  "  Calenus, 
priest  of  Isis,  thou  accusest  Arbaces  of  the  murder  of 
Apaecides  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Thou  didst  behold  the  deed?  " 

"  Praetor — with  these  eyes " 

"  Enough  at  present — the  details  must  be  reserved 
for  more  suiting  time  and  place.  Arbaces  of  Egypt, 
thou  hearest  the  charge  against  thee — thou  hast  not 
yet  spoken — what  hast  thou  to  say  ?  " 

The  gaze  of  the  crowd  had  been  long  riveted  on  Ar- 
baces ;  but  not  until  the  confusion  which  he  had  be- 
trayed at  the  first  charge  of  Sallust  and  the  entrance 
of  Calenus  had  subsided.  At  the  shout,  "  Arbaces  to 
the  lion  !  "  he  had  indeed  trembled,  and  the  dark  bronze 
of  his  cheek  had  taken  a  paler  hue.  But  he  had  soon 
recovered  his  haughtiness  and  self-control.  Proudly 
he  returned  the  angry  glare  of  the  countless  eyes 
around  him;  and  replying  now  to  the  question  of  the 
praetor,  he  said,  in  that  accent  so  peculiarly  tranquil 
and  commanding,  which  characterised  his  tones, — 

"  Praetor,  this  charge  is  so  mad  that  it  scarcely  de- 
serves reply.  My  first  accuser  is  the  noble  Sallust — 
the  most  intimate  friend  of  Glaucus!  my  second  is  a 
priest;  I  revere  his  garb  and  calling — but,  people  of 
Pompeii !  ye  know  somewhat  of  the  character  of  Ca- 
lenus— he  is  griping  and  gold-thirsty  to  a  proverb ; 
the  witness  of  such  men  is  to  be  bought !  Praetor,  I  am 
innocent !  " 

"  Sallust,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  where  found  you 
Calenus?" 


506        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  In  the  dungeons  of  Arbaces." 

"  Egyptian,"  said  the  prsetor,  frowning,  "  thou  didst, 
then,  dare  to  imprison  a  priest  of  the  gods — and  where- 
fore?" 

"  Hear  me,"  answered  Arbaces,  rising  calmly,  but 
with  agitation  visible  in  his  face.  "  This  man  came  to 
threaten  that  he  would  make  against  me  the  charge  he 
has  now  made,  unless  I  would  purchase  his  silence 
with  half  my  fortune:  I  remonstrated — in  vain. — 
Peace  there — let  not  the  priest  interrupt  me !  Noble 
praetor — and  ye,  O  people!  I  was  a  stranger  in  the 
land — I  knew  myself  innocent  of  crime — but  the  wit- 
ness of  a  priest  against  me  might  yet  destroy  me.  In 
my  perplexity  I  decoyed  him  to  the  cell  whence  he 
has  been  released,  on  pretence  that  it  was  the  coffer- 
house  of  my  gold.  I  resolved  to  detain  him  there  un- 
til the  fate  of  the  true  criminal  was  sealed,  and  his 
threats  could  avail  no  longer ;  but  I  meant  no  worse.  I 
may  have  erred — but  who  amongst  ye  will  not  ac- 
knowledge the  equity  of  self-preservation?  Were  I 
guilty,  why  was  the  witness  of  this  priest  silent  at  the 
trial ! — then  I  had  not  detained  or  concealed  him.  Why 
did  he  not  proclaim  my  guilt  when  I  proclaimed  that 
of  Glaucus?  Praetor,  this  needs  an  answer.  For  the 
rest,  I  throw  myself  on  your  laws.  I  demand  their  pro- 
tection. Remove  hence  the  accused  and  the  accuser. 
I  will  willingly  meet,  and  cheerfully  abide  by,  the  de- 
cision of  the  legitimate  tribunal.  This  is  no  place  for 
further  parley." 

"  He  says  right,"  said  the  praetor.  "  Ho !  guards — 
remove  Arbaces — guard  Calenus!  Sallust,  we  hold 
you  responsible  for  your  accusation.  Let  the  sports 
be  resumed." 

"  What !  "  cried  Calenus,  turning  round  to  the  peo- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         507 

pie,  "  shall  Isis  be  thus  contemned  ?  Shall  the  blood  of 
Apsecides  yet  cry  for  vengeance?  Shall  justice  be  de- 
layed now,  that  it  may  be  frustrated  hereafter?  Shall 
the  lion  be  cheated  of  his  lawful  prey  ?  A  god  !  a  god  ! 
— I  feel  the  god  rush  to  my  lips!  To  the  lion — to  the 
lion  zvith  Arbaces! " 

His  exhausted  frame  could  support  no  longer  the 
ferocious  malice  of  the  priest ;  he  sank  on  the  ground  in 
strong  convulsions — the  foam  gathered  to  his  mouth 
— he  was  as  a  man,  indeed,  whom  a  supernatural 
power  had  entered !  The  people  saw  and  shuddered. 

"  It  is  a  god  that  inspires  the  holy  man ! — To  the  lion 
with  the  Egyptian! " 

With  that  cry  up  sprang — on  moved — thousands 
upon  thousands !  They  rushed  from  the  heights — they 
poured  down  in  the  direction  of  the  Egyptian.  In 
vain  did  the  aedile  command — in  vain  did  the  praetor 
lift  his  voice  and  proclaim  the  law.  The  people  had 
been  already  rendered  savage  by  the  exhibition  of 
blood — they  thirsted  for  more — their  superstition  was 
aided  by  their  ferocity.  Aroused, — inflamed  by  the 
spectacle  of  their  victims,  they  forgot  the  authority  of 
their  rulers.  It  was  one  of  those  dread  popular  con- 
vulsions common  to  crowds  wholly  ignorant,  half 
free  and  half  servile ;  and  which  the  peculiar  constitu- 
tion of  the  Roman  provinces  so  frequently  exhibited. 
The  power  of  the  praetor  was  as  a  reed  beneath  the 
whirlwind;  still,  at  his  word  the  guards  had  drawn 
themselves  along  the  lower  benches,  on  which  the 
upper  classes  sat  separate  from  the  vulgar.  They  made 
but  a  feeble  barrier — the  waves  of  the  human  sea 
halted  for  a  moment,  to  enable  Arbaces  to  count  the 
exact  moment  of  his  doom !  In  despair,  and  in  a  terror 
which  beat  down  even  pride,  he  glanced  his  eyes  over 


5o8        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

the  rolling  and  rushing  crowd — when,  right  above 
them,  through  the  wide  chasm  which  had  been  left  in 
the  velaria,  he  beheld  a  strange  and  awful  apparition 
— he  beheld — and  his  craft  restored  his  courage! 

He  stretched  his  hand  on  high ;  over  his  lofty  brow 
and  royal  features,  there  came  an  expression  of  un- 
utterable solemnity  and  command 

"  Behold !  "  he  shouted  with  a  voice  of  thunder, 
which  stilled  the  roar  of  the  crowd ;  "  behold  how  the 
gods  protect  the  guiltless!  The  fires  of  the  avenging 
Orcus  burst  forth  against  the  false  witness  of  my  ac- 
cusers !  " 

The  eyes  of  the  crowd  followed  the  gesture  of  the 
Egyptian,  and  beheld,  with  ineffable  dismay,  a  vast 
vapour  shooting  from  the  summit  of  Vesuvius,  in  the 
form  of  a  gigantic  pine-tree ; *  the  trunk,  blackness, — 
the  branches,  fire! — a  fire  that  shifted  and  wavered  in 
its  hues  with  every  moment,  now  fiercely  luminous, 
now  of  a  dull  and  dying  red,  that  again  blazed  ter- 
rifically forth  with  intolerable  glare ! 

There  was  a  dead,  heart-sunken  silence — through 
which  there  suddenly  broke  the  roar  of  the  lion,  which 
was  echoed  back  from  within  the  building  by  the 
sharper  and  fiercer  yells  of  its  fellow-beast.  Dread 
seers  were  they  of  the  Burden  of  the  Atmosphere,  and 
wild  prophets  of  the  wrath  to  come ! 

Then  there  arose  on  high  the  universal  shrieks  of 
women ;  the  men  stared  at  each  other,  but  were  dumb. 
At  that  moment  they  felt  the  earth  shake  beneath  their 
feet;  the  walls  of  the  theatre  trembled:  and,  beyond 
in  the  distance,  they  heard  the  crash  of  falling  roofs ; 
an  instant  more  and  the  mountain-cloud  seemed  to 
roll  towards  them,  dark  and  rapid,  like  a  torrent;  at 
1  Pliny. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         509 

the  same  time,  it  cast  forth  from  its  bosom  a  shower  of 
ashes  mixed  with  vast  fragments  of  burning  stone ! 
Over  the  crushing  vines, — over  the  desolate  streets, — 
over  the  amphitheatre  itself, — far  and  wide, — with 
many  a  mighty  splash  in  the  agitated  sea, — fell  that 
awful  shower ! 

No  longer  thought  the  crowd  of  justice  or  of  Ar- 
baces;  safety  for  themselves  was  their  sole  thought. 
Each  turned  to  fly — each  dashing,  pressing,  crushing, 
against  the  other.  Trampling  recklessly  over  the 
fallen — amidst  groans,  and  oaths,  and  prayers,  and 
sudden  shrieks,  the  enormous  crowd  vomited  itself 
forth  through  the  numerous  passages.  Whither  should 
they  fly?  Some,  anticipating  a  second  earthquake, 
hastened  to  their  homes  to  load  themselves  with  their 
more  costly  goods,  and  escape  while  it  was  yet  time; 
others,  dreading  the  showers  of  ashes  that  now  fell 
fast,  torrent  upon  torrent,  over  the  streets,  rushed  un- 
der the  roofs  of  the  nearest  houses,  or  temples,  or 
sheds — shelter  of  any  kind — for  protection  from  the 
terrors  of  the  open  air.  But  darker,  and  larger,  and 
mightier,  spread  the  cloud  above  them.  It  was  a  sud- 
den and  more  ghastly  Night  rushing  upon  the  realm 
of  Noon !  

CHAPTER   V 

THE  CELL  OF  THE  PRISONER  AND  THE  DEN  OF  THE  DEAD. 
GRIEF    UNCONSCIOUS   OF    HORROR. 

Stunned  by  his  reprieve,  doubting  that  he  was 
awake,  Glaucus  had  been  led  by  the  officers  of  the 
arena  into  a  small  cell  within  the  walls  of  the  theatre. 
They  threw  a  loose  robe  over  his  form,  and  crowded 
round  him  in  congratulation  and  wonder.  There  was 


5io        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

an  impatient  and  fretful  cry  without  the  cell :  the 
throng  gave  way,  and  the  blind  girl,  led  by  some 
gentler  hand,  flung  herself  at  the  feet  of  Glaucus. 

"  It  is  /  who  have  saved  thee,"  she  sobbed ;  "  now 
let  me  die !  " 

"  Nydia,  my  child ! — my  preserver !  " 

"  Oh,  let  me  feel  thy  touch — thy  breath !  Yes,  yes, 
thou  livest !  We  are  not  too  late !  That  dread  door, 
me  thought  it  would  never  yield !  and  Calenus — oh ! 
his  voice  was  as  the  dying  wind  among  tombs : — we 
had  to  wait, — gods !  it  seemed  hours  ere  food  and  wine 
restored  to  him  something  of  strength.  But  thou 
livest !  thou  livest  yet !  And  I — /  have  saved  thee !  " 

This  affecting  scene  was  soon  interrupted  by  the 
event  just  described. 

"  The  mountain !  the  earthquake !  "  resounded  from 
side  to  side.  The  officers  fled  with  the  rest;  they  left 
Glaucus  and  Nydia  to  save  themselves  as  they  might. 

As  the  sense  of  the  dangers  around  them  flashed  on 
the  Athenian,  his  generous  heart  recurred  to  Olinthus. 
He,  too,  was  reprieved  from  the  tiger  by  the  hand  of 
the  gods ;  should  he  be  left  to  a  no  less  fatal  death  in 
the  neighbouring  cell?  Taking  Nydia  by  the  hand, 
Glaucus  hurried  across  the  passages ;  he  gained  the  den 
of  the  Christian !  He  found  Olinthus  kneeling  and  in 
prayer. 

"  Arise !  arise !  my  friend,"  he  cried.  "  Save  thyself, 
and  fly  !  See  !  Nature  is  thy  dread  deliverer !  "  He 
led  forth  the  bewildered  Christian,  and  pointed  to  a 
cloud  which  advanced  darker  and  darker,  disgorging 
forth  showers  of  ashes  and  pumice-stones :  and  bade 
him  hearken  to  the  cries  and  trampling  rush  of  the 
scattered  crowd. 

"This  is  the  hand  of  God — God, be  praised!"  said 
Olinthus,  devoutly.  — 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         511 

"  Fly !  seek  thy  brethren !  Concert  with  them  thy 
escape.  Farewell !  " 

Olinthus  did  not  answer,  neither  did  he  mark  the  re- 
treating form  of  his  friend.  High  thoughts  and  sol- 
emn absorbed  his  soul ;  and  in  the  enthusiasm  of  his 
kindling  heart,  he  exulted  in  the  mercy  of  God  rather 
than  trembled  at  the  evidence  of  His  power. 

At  length  he  roused  himself,  and  hurried  on,  he 
scarce  knew  whither. 

The  open  doors  of  a  dark  desolate  cell  suddenly  ap- 
peared on  his  path;  through  the  gloom  within  there 
flared  and  flickered  a  single  lamp ;  and  by  its  light  he 
saw  three  grim  and  naked  forms  stretched  on  the  earth 
in  death.  His  feet  were  suddenly  arrested ;  for,  amidst 
the  terrors  of  that  drear  recess — the  spoliarium  of  the 
arena — he  heard  a  low  voice  calling  on  the  name  of 
Christ ! 

He  could  not  resist  lingering  at  that  appeal ;  he  en- 
tered the  den,  and  his  feet  were  dabbled  in  the  slow 
streams  of  blood  that  gushed  from  the  corpses  over 
the  sand. 

"  Who,"  said  the  Nazarene,  "  calls  upon  the  Son  of 
God?" 

No  answer  came  forth ;  and  turning  round,  Olinthus 
beheld,  by  the  light  of  the  lamp,  an  old  grey-headed 
man  sitting  on  the  floor,  and  supporting  in  his  lap  the 
head  of  one  of  the  dead.  The  features  of  the  dead 
man  were  firmly  and  rigidly  locked  in  the  last  sleep; 
but  over  the  lip  there  played  a  fierce  smile — not  the 
Christian's  smile  of  hope,  but  the  dark  sneer  of  hatred 
and  defiance.  Yet  on  the  face  still  lingered  the  beau- 
tiful roundness  of  early  youth.  The  hair  curled  thick 
and  glossy  over  the  unwrinkled  brow ;  and  the  down 
of  manhood  but  slightly  shaded  the  marble  of  the 


512        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

hueless  cheek.  And  over  this  face  bent  one  of  such 
unutterable  sadness — of  such  yearning  tenderness — of 
such  fond  and  such  deep  despair !  The  tears  of  the  old 
man  fell  fast  and  hot,  but  he  did  not  feel  them;  and 
when  his  lips  moved,  and  he  mechanically  uttered  the 
prayer  of  his  benign  and  hopeful  faith,  neither  his 
heart  nor  his  sense  responded  to  the  words :  it  was  but 
the  involuntary  emotion  that  broke  from  the  lethargy 
of  his  mind.  His  boy  was  dead,  and  had  died  for 
him! — and  the  old  man's  heart  was  broken. 

"  Medon  !  "  said  Olinthus  pityingly,  "  arise,  and  fly ! 
God  is  forth  upon  the  wings  of  the  elements!  The 
New  Gomorrah  is  doomed  ! — Fly,  ere  the  fires  consume 
thee !  " 

"  He  was  ever  so  full  of  life ! — he  cannot  be  dead ! 
Come  hither ! — place  your  hand  on  his  heart ! — sure  it 
beats  yet  ?  " 

"  Brother,  the  soul  has  fled!  We  will  remember  it  in 
our  prayers.  Thou  canst  not  reanimate  the  dumb  clay. 
Come,  come — hark  !  while  I  speak,  yon  crashing  walls ! 
— hark !  yon  agonising  cries !  Not  a  moment  is  to  be 
lost !  Come !  " 

"  I  hear  nothing !  "  said  Medon,  shaking  his  grey 
hair.  "  The  poor  boy,  his  love  murdered  him !  " 

"  Come !  come !  forgive  this  friendly  force." 

"  What !  Who  would  sever  the  father  from  the 
son  ?  "  And  Medon  clasped  the  body  tightly  in  his 
embrace,  and  covered  it  with  passionate  kisses.  "  Go !  " 
said  he,  lifting  up  his  face  for  one  moment.  "  Go ! — 
we  must  be  alone !  " 

"  Alas !  "  said  the  compassionate  Nazarene,  "  Death 
hath  severed  ye  already." 

The  old  man  smiled  very  calmly.  "  No,  no,  no !  "  he 
muttered,  his  voice  growing  louder  with  each  word,— 
"  Death  has  been  more  kind." 


In  the  Spoliarium. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         513 

With  that  his  head  drooped  on  his  son's  breast — his 
arms  relaxed  their  grasp.  Olinthus  caught  him  by  the 
hand — the  pulse  had  ceased  to  beat.  The  last  words 
of  the  father  were  the  words  of  truth, — Death  had  been 
wore  kind. 

Meanwhile  Glaucus  and  Nydia  were  pacing  swiftly 
up  the  perilous  and  fearful  streets.  The  Athenian  had 
learned  from  his  preserver  that  lone  was  yet  in  the 
house  of  Arbaces.  Thither  he  fled,  to  release — to  save 
her.  The  few  slaves  whom  the  Egyptian  had  left  at 
his  mansion  when  he  had  repaired  in  long  procession 
to  the  amphitheatre,  had  been  able  to  offer  no  resist- 
ance to  the  armed  band  of  Sallust;  and  when  after- 
wards the  volcano  broke  forth,  they  had  huddled  to- 
gether, stunned  and  frightened,  in  the  inmost  recesses 
of  the  house.  Even  the  tall  Ethiopian  had  forsaken 
his  post  at  the  door;  and  Glaucus  (who  left  Nydia 
without — the  poor  Nydia,  jealous  once  more,  even  in 
such  an  hour!)  passed  on  through  the  vast  hall  .with- 
out meeting  one  from  whom  to  learn  the  chamber  of 
lone.  Even  as  he  passed,  however,  the  darkness  that 
covered  the  heavens  increased  so  rapidly,  that  it  was 
with  difficulty  he  could  guide  his  steps.  The  flower- 
wreathed  columns  seemed  to  reel  and  tremble ;  and 
with  every  instant  he  heard  the  ashes  fall  cranchingly 
into  the  roofless  peristyle.  He  ascended  to  the  upper 
rooms — breathless  he  paced  along,  shouting  out  aloud 
the  name  of  lone ;  and  at  length  he  heard,  at  the  end 
of  a  gallery,  a  voice — her  voice,  in  wondering  reply ! 
To  rush  forward — to  shatter  the  door — to  seize  lone 
in  his  arms — to  hurry  from  the  mansion — seemed  to 
him  the  work  of  an  instant !  Scarce  had  he  gained  the 
spot  where  Nydia  was,  than  he  heard  steps  advancing 
towards  the  house,  and  recognised  the  voice  of  Ar- 

33 


baces,  who  had  returned  to  seek  his  wealth  and  lone 
ere  he  fled  from  the  doomed  Pompeii.  But  so  dense 
was  already  the  reeking  atmosphere,  that  the  foes  saw 
not  each  other,  though  so  near, — save  that,  dimly  in  the 
gloom,  Glaucus  caught  the  moving  outline  of  the 
snowy  robes  of  the  Egyptian. 

They  hastened  onward — those  three!  Alas! — 
whither  ?  They  now  saw  not  a  step  before  them — the 
blackness  became  utter.  They  were  encompassed  with 
doubt  and  horror! — and  the  death  he  had  escaped 
seemed  to  Glaucus  only  to  have  changed  its  form  and 
augmented  its  victims. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CALENUS     AND     BURBO. — DIOMED    AND     CLODIUS. — THE 
GIRL  OF  THE  AMPHITHEATRE  AND  JULIA. 

The  sudden  catastrophe  which  had,  as  it  were,  riven 
the  very  bonds  of  society,  and  left  prisoner  and  gaoler 
alike  free,  had  soon  rid  Calenus  of  the  guards  to  whose 
care  the  praetor  had  consigned  him.  And  when  the 
darkness  and  the  crowd  separated  the  priest  from  his 
attendants,  he  hastened  with  trembling  steps  towards 
the  temple  of  his  goddess.  As  he  crept  along,  and  ere 
the  darkness  was  complete,  he  felt  himself  suddenly 
caught  by  the  robe,  and  a  voice  muttered  in  his  ear, — 

"  Hist ! — Calenus ! — an  awful  hour !  " 

"  Ay !  by  my  father's  head !  Who  art  thou  ? — thy 
face  is  dim,  and  thy  voice  is  strange !  " 

"  Not  know  thy  Burbo?— fie !  " 

"Gods! — how  the  darkness  gathers!  Ho,  ho! — by 
yon  terrific  mountain,  what  sudden  blazes  of  light- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        51$ 

ning ! 1 — How  they  dart  and  quiver !  Hades  is  loosed 
on  earth !  " 

"  Tush  ! — thou  believest  not  these  things,  Calenus ! 
Now  is  the  time  to  make  our  fortune !  " 

"Ha!" 

"  Listen !  Thy  temple  is  full  of  gold  and  precious 
mummeries ! — let  us  load  ourselves  with  them,  and 
then  hasten  to  the  sea  and  embark!  None  will  ever 
ask  an  account  of  the  doings  of  this  day." 

"  Burbo,  thou  art  right !  Hush !  and  follow  me  into 
the  temple.  Who  cares  now — who  sees  now — whether 
thou  art  a  priest  or  not?  Follow,  and  we  will  share." 

In  the  precincts  of  the  temple  were  many  priests 
gathered  around  the  altars,  praying,  weeping,  grovel- 
ling in  the  dust.  Impostors  in  safety,  they  were  not  the 
less  superstitious  in  danger!  Calenus  passed  them, 
and  entered  the  chamber  yet  to  be  seen  in  the  south 
side  of  the  court.  Burbo  followed  him — the  priest 
struck  a  light.  Wine  and  viands  strewed  the  table,  the 
remains  of  a  sacrificial  feast. 

"  A  man  who  has  hungered  forty-eight  hours,"  mut- 
tered Calenus,  "  has  an  appetite  even  in  such  a  time." 
He  seized  on  the  food  and  devoured  it  greedily.  Noth- 
ing could,  perhaps,  be  more  unnaturally  horrid  than 
the  selfish  baseness  of  these  villains ;  for  there  is  noth- 
ing more  loathsome  than  the  valour  of  avarice.  Plun- 
der and  sacrilege  while  the  pillars  of  the  world  tottered 
to  and  fro !  What  an  increase  to  the  terrors  of  nature 
can  be  made  by  the  vices  of  man ! 

"  Wilt  thou  never  have  done  ?  "  said  Burbo,  impa- 

1  Volcanic  lightnings.  These  phenomena  were  especially  the 
characteristic  of  the  long  subsequent  eruption  of  1779,  and 
their  evidence  is  visible  in  the  tokens  of  that  more  awful  one 
now  so  imperfectly  described. 


516        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

tiently ;  "  thy  face  purples  and  thine  eyes  start  al- 
ready." 

"  It  is  not  every  day  one  has  such  a  right  to  be  hun- 
gry. Oh,  Jupiter !  what  sound  is  that  ? — the  hissing  of 
fiery  water!  What!  does  the  cloud  give  rain  as  well 
as  flame !  Ha ! — what !  shrieks  ?  And,  Burbo,  how  si- 
lent all  is  now  !  Look  forth !  " 

Amidst  the  other  horrors,  the  mighty  mountain  now 
cast  up  columns  of  boiling  water.  Blent  and  kneaded 
with  the  half -burning  ashes,  the  streams  fell  like 
seething  mud  over  the  streets  in  frequent  intervals. 
And  full,  where  the  priests  of  Isis  had  now  cowered 
around  the  altars,  on  which  they  had  vainly  sought  to 
kindle  fires  and  pour  incense,  one  of  the  fiercest  of 
those  deadly  torrents,  mingled  with  immense  fra- 
grants  of  scoria,  had  poured  its  rage.  Over  the  bended 
forms  of  the  priests  it  dashed:  that  cry  had  been  of 
death — that  silence  had  been  of  eternity !  The  ashes — 
the  pitchy  stream — sprinkled  the  altars,  covered  the 
pavement,  and  half  concealed  the  quivering  corpses 
of  the  priests ! 

"  They  are  dead,"  said  Burbo,  terrified  for  the  first 
time,  and  hurrying  back  into  the  cell.  "  I  thought  not 
the  danger  was  so  near  and  fatal." 

The  two  wretches  stood  staring  at  each  other — you 
might  have  heard  their  hearts  beat !  Calenus,  the  less 
bold  by  nature,  but  the  more  griping,  recovered  first. 

"  We  must  to  our  task,  and  away !  "  he  said,  in  a 
low  whisper,  frightened  at  his  own  voice.  He  stepped 
to  the  threshold,  paused,  crossed  over  the  heated  floor 
and  his  dead  brethren  to  the  sacred  chapel,  and  called 
to  Burbo  to  follow.  But  the  gladiator  quaked,  and 
drew  back. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  thought  Calenus;  "  the  more 


.THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        517 

will  be  my  booty."  Hastily  he  loaded  himself  with 
the  more  portable  treasures  of  the  temple;  and  think- 
ing no  more  of  his  comrade,  hurried  from  the  sacred 
place.  A  sudden  flash  of  lightning  from  the  mount 
showed  to  Burbo,  who  stood  motionless  at  the  thresh- 
old, the  flying  and  laden  form  of  the  priest.  He  took 
heart,  he  stepped  forth  to  join  him,  when  a  tremendous 
shower  of  ashes  fell  right  before  his  feet.  The  gladia- 
tor shrank  back  once  more.  Darkness  closed  him  in. 
But  the  shower  continued  fast — fast;  its  heaps  rose 
high  and  suffocatingly — deathly  vapours  steamed  from 
them.  The  wretch  gasped  for  breath — he  sought  in 
despair  again  to  fly — the  ashes  had  blocked  up  the 
threshold — he  shrieked  as  his  feet  shrank  from  the 
boiling  fluid.  How  could  he  escape?  he  could  not 
climb  to  the  open  space;  nay,  were  he  able,  he  could 
not  brave  its  horrors.  It  were  best  to  remain  in  the 
cell,  protected,  at  least,  from  the  fatal  air.  He  sat 
down  and  clenched  his  teeth.  By  degrees,  the  atmos- 
phere from  without — stifling  and  venomous — crept 
into  the  chamber.  He  could  endure  it  no  longer.  His 
eyes,  glaring  round,  rested  on  a  sacrificial  axe,  which 
some  priest  had  left  in  the  chamber :  he  seized  it.  With 
the  desperate  strength  of  his  gigantic  arm,  he  at- 
tempted to  hew  his  way  through  the  walls. 

Meanwhile,  the  streets  were  already  thinned ;  the 
crowd  had  hastened  to  disperse  itself  under  shelter; 
the  ashes  began  to  fill  up  the  lower  parts  of  the  town ; 
but,  here  and  there,  you  heard  the  steps  of  fugitives 
cranching  them  warily,  or  saw  their  pale  and  haggard 
faces  by  the  blue  glare  of  the  lightning,  or  the  more 
unsteady  glare  of  torches,  by  which  they  endeavoured 
to  steer  their  steps.  But  ever  and  anon,  the  boiling 
water,  or  the  straggling  ashes,  mysterious  and  gusty 


Si8        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

winds,  rising  and  dying  in  a  breath,  extinguished  these 
wandering  lights,  and  with  them  the  last  living  hope  of 
those  who  bore  them. 

In  the  street  that  leads  to  the  gate  of  Herculaneum, 
Clodius  now  bent  his  perplexed  and  doubtful  way.  "  If 
I  can  gain  the  open  country,"  thought  he,  "  doubtless 
there  will  be  various  vehicles  beyond  the  gate,  and 
Herculaneum  is  not  far  distant.  Thank  Mercury!  I 
have  little  to  lose,  and  that  little  is  about  me !  " 

"  Holloa ! — help  here — help !  "  cried  a  querulous  and 
frightened  voice.  "  I  have  fallen  down — my  torch  has 
gone  out — my  slaves  have  deserted  me.  I  am  Diomed 
— the  rich  Diomed ;  ten  thousand  sesterces  to  him  who 
helps  me !  " 

At  the  same  moment,  Clodius  felt  himself  caught  by 
the  feet.  "  111  fortune  to  thee, — let  me  go,  fool,"  said 
the  gambler. 

"  Oh,  help  me  up ! — give  me  thy  hand !  " 

"There— rise!" 

"  Is  this  Clodius  ?  I  know  the  voice !  Whither  fliest 
thou?" 

"  Towards  Herculaneum." 

"  Blessed  be  the  gods !  our  way  is  the  same,  then,  as 
far  as  the  gate.  Why  not  take  refuge  in  my  villa? 
Thou  knowest  the  long  range  of  subterranean  cellars 
beneath  the  basement — that  shelter  what  shower  can 
penetrate  ?  " 

"  You  speak  well,"  said  Clodius,  musingly.  "  And 
by  storing  the  cellar  with  food,  we  can  remain  there 
even  some  days,  should  these  wondrous  storms  endure 
so  long." 

"  Oh,  blessed  be  he  who  invented  gates  to  a  city !  " 
cried  Diomed.  "  See ! — they  have  placed  a  light 
within  yon  arch :  by  that  let  us  guide  our  steps." 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         519 

The  air  was  now  still  for  a  few  minutes;  the  lamp 
from  the  gate  streamed  out  far  and  clear :  the  fugitives 
hurried  on — they  gained  the  gate — they  passed  by  the 
Roman  sentry ;  the  lightning  flashed  over  his  livid  face 
and  polished  helmet,  but  his  stern  features  were  com- 
posed even  in  their  awe !  He  remained  erect  and  mo- 
tionless at  his  post.  That  hour  itself  had  not  ani- 
mated the  machine  of  the  ruthless  majesty  of  Rome 
into  the  reasoning  and  self-acting  man.  There  he 
stood,  amidst  the  crashing  elements:  he  had  not  re- 
ceived the  permission  to  desert  his  station  and  escape.1 

Diomed  and  his  companion  hurried  on,  when  sud- 
denly a  female  form  rushed  athwart  their  way.  It  was 
the  girl  whose  ominous  voice  had  been  raised  so  often 
and  so  gladly  in  anticipation  of  "  the  merry  show !  " 

"  Oh,  Diomed !  "  she  cried,  "  shelter !  shelter !  See," 
— pointing  to  an  infant  clasped  to  her  breast — "  see 
this  little  one! — it  is  mine! — the  child  of  shame!  I 
have  never  owned  it  till  this  hour.  But  now  I  remem- 
ber I  am  a  mother !  I  have  plucked  it  from  the  cradle 
of  its  nurse:  she  had  fled!  Who  could  think  of  the 
babe  in  such  an  hour,  but  she  who  bore  it  ?  Save  it ! 
save  it !  " 

"  Curses  on  thy  shrill  voice  !  Away,  harlot !  "  mut- 
tered Clodius  between  his  ground  teeth. 

"  Nay,  girl,"  said  the  more  humane  Diomed ;  "  fol- 
low if  thou  wilt.  This  way — this  way — to  the  vaults !  " 

They  hurried  on — they  arrived  at  the  house  of  Dio- 
med— they  laughed  aloud  as  they  crossed  the  thresh- 
old, for  they  deemed  the  danger  over. 

Diomed  ordered  his  slaves  to  carry  down  into  the 
subterranean  gallery,  before  described,  a  profusion  of 

1  The  skeletons  of  more  than  one  sentry  were  found  at 
their  posts. 


520        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

food  and  oil  for  lights;  and  there  Julia,  Clodius,  the 
mother  and  her  babe,  the  greater  part  of  the  slaves, 
and  some  frightened  visitors  and  clients  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, sought  their  shelter. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  PROGRESS  OF  THE  DESTRUCTION. 

The  cloud,  which  had  scattered  so  deep  a  murkiness 
over  the  day,  had  now  settled  into  a  solid  and  impene- 
trable mass.  It  resembled  less  even  the  thickest  gloom 
of  night  in  the  open  air  than  the  close  and  blind  dark- 
ness of  some  narrow  room.1  But  in  proportion  as  the 
blackness  gathered  did  the  lightnings  around  Vesuvius 
increase  in  their  vivid  and  scorching  glare.  Nor  was 
their  horrible  beauty  confined  to  the  usual  hues  of 
fire;  no  rainbow  ever  rivalled  their  varying  and  prod- 
igal dyes.  Now  brightly  blue  as  the  most  azure 
depth  of  a  southern  sky — now  of  a  livid  and  snakelike 
green,  darting  restlessly  to  and  fro  as  the  folds  of  an 
enormous  serpent — now  of  a  lurid  and  intolerable 
crimson,  gushing  forth  through  the  columns  of  smoke, 
far  and  wide,  and  lighting  up  the  whole  city  from  arch 
to  arch, — then  suddenly  dying  into  a  sickly  paleness, 
like  the  ghost  of  their  own  life ! 

In  the  pauses  of  the  showers,  you  heard  the  rum- 
bling of  the  earth  beneath,  and  the  groaning  waves  of 
the  tortured  sea ;  or,  lower  still,  and  audible  but  to  the 
watch  of  intensest  fear,  the  grinding  and  hissing  mur- 
mur of  the  escaping  gases  through  the  chasms  of  the 
distant  mountain.  Sometimes  the  cloud  appeared  to 
break  from  its  solid  mass,  and,  by  the  lightning,  to  as- 
1  Pliny. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        521 

sume  quaint  and  vast  mimicries  of  human  or  of  mon- 
ster shapes,  striding  across  the  gloom,  hurtling  one 
upon  the  other,  and  vanishing  swiftly  into  the  turbulent 
abyss  of  shade;  so  that  to  the  eyes  and  fancies  of  the 
affrighted  wanderers,  the  unsubstantial  vapours  were 
as  the  bodily  forms  of  gigantic  foes, — the  agents  of 
terror  and  of  death.1 

The  ashes  in  many  places  were  already  knee-deep ; 
and  the  boiling  showers  which  came  from  the  steam- 
ing breath  <*£  the  volcano  forced  their  way  into  the 
houses,  bearing  with  them  a  strong  and  suffocating 
vapour.  In  some  places,  immense  fragments  of  rock, 
hurled  upon  the  house  roofs,  bore  down  along  the 
streets  masses  of  confused  ruin,  which  yet  more  and 
more,  with  every  hour,  obstructed  the  way ;  and,  as  the 
day  advanced,  the  motion  of  the  earth  was  more  sen- 
sibly felt — the  footing  seemed  to  slide  and  creep — nor 
could  chariot  or  litter  be  kept  steady,  even  on  the  most 
level  ground. 

Sometimes  the  huger  stones,  striking  against  each 
other  as  they  fell,  broke  into  countless  frppments, 
emitting  sparks  of  fire,  which  caught  whatever  was 
combustible  within  their  reach ;  and  along  the  plains 
beyond  the  city  the  darkness  was  now  terribly  relieved, 
for  several  houses,  and  even  vineyards,  had  been  set  on 
flames;  and  at  various  intervals  the  fires  rose  sullenly 
and  fiercely  against  the  solid  gloom.  To  add  to  this 
partial  relief  of  the  darkness,  the  citizens  had,  here  and 
there,  in  the  more  public  places,  as  the  porticoes  of 
temples  and  the  entrances  to  the  forum,  endeavoured 
to  place  rows  of  torches ;  but  these  rarely  continued 
long;  the  showers  and  the  winds  extinguished  them, 
and  the  sudden  darkness  into  which  their  sudden  birth 
1  Dion  Cassius. 


522        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

was  converted  had  something  in  it  doubly  terrible  and 
doubly  impressing  on  the  impotence  of  human  hopes, 
the  lesson  of  despair. 

Frequently,  by  the  momentary  light  of  these  torches, 
parties  of  fugitives  encountered  each  other,  some 
hurrying  towards  the  sea,  others  flying  from  the  sea 
back  to  the  land ;  for  the  ocean  had  retreated  rapidly 
from  the  shore — an  utter  darkness  lay  over  it,  and, 
upon  its  groaning  and  tossing  waves  the  storm  of  cin- 
ders and  rock  fell  without  the  protection  which  the 
streets  and  roofs  afforded  to  the  land.  Wild — hag- 
gard— ghastly  with  supernatural  fears,  these  groups 
encountered  each  other,  but  without  the  leisure  to 
speak,  to  consult,  to  advise ;  for  the  showers  fell  now 
frequently,  though  not  continuously,  extinguishing  the 
lights ;  which  showed  to  each  band  the  death-like  faces 
of  the  other,  and  hurrying  all  to  seek  refuge  beneath 
the  nearest  shelter.  The  whole  elements  of  civilisation 
were  broken  up.  Ever  and  anon,  by  the  flickering 
lights/  you  saw  the  thief  hastening  by  the  most  sol- 
emn authorities  of  the  law,  laden  with,  and  fearfully 
chuckling  over,  the  produce  of  his  sudden  gains.  If, 
in  the  darkness,  wife  was  separated  from  husband,  or 
parent  from  child,  vain  was  the  hope  of  reunion.  Each 
hurried  blindly  and  confusedly  on.  Nothing  in  all 
the  various  and  complicated  machinery  of  social  life 
was  left  save  the  primal  law  of  self-preservation ! 

Through  this  awful  scene  did  the  Athenian  make 
his  way,  accompanied  by  lone  and  the  blind  girl.  Sud- 
denly, a  rush  of  hundreds,  in  their  path  to  the  sea, 
swept  by  them.  Nydia  was  torn  from  the  side  of  Glau- 
cus,  who,  with  lone,  was  borne  rapidly  onward;  and 
when  the  crowd  (whose  forms  they  saw  not,  so  thick 
was  the  gloom)  were  gone,  Nydia  was  still  separated 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         523 

from  their  side.  Glaucus  shouted  her  name.  No  an- 
swer came.  They  retraced  their  steps — in  vain:  they 
could  not  discover  her — it  was  evident  that  she  had 
been  swept  along  some  opposite  direction  by  the  hu- 
man current.  Their  friend,  their  preserver,  was  lost! 
And  hitherto  Nydia  had  been  their  guide.  Her  blind- 
ness rendered  the  scene  familiar  to  her  alone.  Accus- 
tomed, through  a  perpetual  night,  to  thread  the  wind- 
ings of  the  city,  she  had  led  them  unerringly  towards 
the  sea-shore,  by  which  they  had  resolved  to  hazard 
an  escape.  Now,  which  way  could  they  wend?  all 
was  rayless  to  them — a  maze  without  a  clue.  Wearied, 
despondent,  bewildered,  they,  however,  passed  along, 
the  ashes  falling  upon  their  heads,  the  fragmentary 
stones  dashing  up  in  sparkles  before  their  feet. 

"  Alas !  alas ! "  murmured  lone,  "  I  can  go  no 
farther;  my  steps  sink  among  the  scorching  cinders. 
Fly,  dearest ! — beloved,  fly !  and  leave  me  to  my  fate !  " 

"  Hush,  my  betrothed !  my  bride !  Death  with  thee 
is  sweeter  than  life  without  thee !  Yet,  whither — oh ! 
whither,  can  we  direct  ourselves  through  the  gloom? 
Already  it  seems  that  we  have  made  but  a  circle,  and 
are  in  the  very  spot  which  we  quitted  an  hour  ago." 

"  O  gods !  yon  rock — see,  it  hath  riven  the  roof  be- 
fore us !  It  is  death  to  move  through  the  streets !  " 

"  Blessed  lightning!  See,  lone — see!  the  portico  of 
the  Temple  of  Fortune  is  before  us.  Let  us  creep  be- 
neath it ;  it  will  protect  us  from  the  showers." 

He  caught  his  beloved  in  his  arms,  and  with  dif- 
ficulty and  labour  gained  the  temple.  He  bore  her  to 
the  remoter  and  more  sheltered  part  of  the  portico,  and 
leaned  over  her  that  he  might  shield  her,  with  his  own 
form,  from  the  lightning  and  the  showers!  The 
beauty  and  the  unselfishness  of  love  could  hallow  even 
that  dismal  time ! 


524        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  said  the  trembling  and  hollow 
voice  of  one  who  had  preceded  them  in  their  place  of 
refuge.  '"  Yet,  what  matters  ? — the  crush  of  the  ruined 
world  forbids  to  us  friends  or  foes." 

lone  turned  at  the  sound  of  that  voice,  and,  with  a 
faint  shriek  cowered  again  beneath  the  arms  of  Glau- 
cus :  and  he,  looking  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  be- 
held the  cause  of  her  alarm.  Through  the  darkness 
glared  forth  two  burning  eyes — the  lightning  flashed 
and  lingered  athwart  the  temple — and  Glaucus,  with  a 
shudder,  perceived  the  lion  to  which  he  had  been 
doomed  crouched  beneath  the  pillars; — and,  close  be- 
side it,  unwitting  of  the  vicinity,  lay  the  giant  form  of 
him  who  had  accosted  them — the  wounded  gladiator, 
Niger. 

That  lightning  had  revealed  to  each  other  the  form 
of  beast  and  man ;  yet  the  instinct  of  both  was  quelled. 
Nay,  the  lion  crept  near  and  nearer  to  the  gladiator,  as 
for  companionship ;  and  the  gladiator  did  not  recede 
or  tremble.  The  revolution  of  Nature  had  dissolved 
her  lighter  terrors  as  well  as  her  wonted  ties. 

While  they  were  thus  terribly  protected,  a  group  of 
men  and  women,  bearing  torches,  passed  by  the  tem- 
ple. They  were  of  the  congregation  of  the  Nazarenes ; 
and  a  sublime  and  unearthly  emotion  had  not,  indeed, 
quelled  their  awe,  but  it  had  robbed  awe  of  fear.  They 
had  long  believed,  according  to  the  error  of  the  early 
Christians,  that  the  Last  Day  was  at  hand;  they  im- 
agined now  that  the  day  had  come. 

"  Woe !  woe !  "  cried,  in  a  shrill  and  piercing  voice, 
the  elder  at  their  head.  "  Behold!  the  Lord  descend- 
eth  to  judgment!  He  maketh  fire  come  down  from 
heaven  in  the  sight  of  men !  Woe !  woe !  ye  strong 
and  mighty !  Woe  to  ye  of  the  fasces  and  the  purple ! 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         525 

Woe  to  the  idolater  and  the  worshipper  of  the  beast! 
Woe  to  ye  who  pour  forth  the  blood  of  saints,  and 
gloat  over  the  death-pangs  of  the  sons  of  God !  Woe 
to  the  harlot  of  the  sea ! — woe !  woe !  " 

And  with  a  loud  and  deep  chorus,  the  troop  chanted 
forth  along  the  wild  horrors  of  the  air, — "  Woe  to  the 
harlot  of  the  sea ! — woe !  woe !  " 

The  Nazarenes  paced  slowly  on,  their  torches  still 
flickering  in  the  storm,  their  voices  still  raised  in 
menace  and  solemn  warning,  till,  lost  amid  the  wind- 
ings in  the  streets,  the  darkness  of  the  atmosphere  and 
the  silence  of  death  again  fell  over  the  scene. 

There  was  one  of  the  frequent  pauses  in  the  showers, 
and  Glaucus  encouraged  lone  once  more  to  proceed. 
Just  as  they  stood,  hesitating,  on  the  last  step  of  the 
portico,  an  old  man,  with  a  bag  in  his  right  hand  and 
leaning  upon  a  youth,  tottered  by.  The  youth  bore  a 
torch.  Glaucus  recognised  the  two  as  father  and  son 
— miser  and  prodigal. 

"  Father,"  said  the  youth,  "  if  you  cannot  move  more 
swiftly,  I  must  leave  you,  or  we  both  perish !  " 

"  Fly,  boy,  then,  and  leave  thy  sire !  " 

"  But  I  cannot  fly  to  starve ;  give  me  thy  bag  of 
gold !  "  And  the  youth  snatched  at  it. 

"  Wretch !  wouldst  thou  rob  thy  father  ?  " 

"  Ay !  who  can  tell  the  tale  in  this  hour  ?  Miser, 
perish !  " 

The  boy  struck  the  old  man  to  the  ground,  plucked 
the  bag  from  his  relaxing  hand,  and  fled  onward  with 
a  shrill  yell. 

"  Ye  gods !  "  cried  Glaucus :  "  are  ye  blind,  then, 
even  in  the  dark?  Such  crimes  may  well  confound  the 
guiltless  with  the  guilty  in  one  common  ruin.  lone, 
on !— on !  " 


526        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

CHAPTER  VIII 

/ 

A.RBACES    ENCOUNTERS    GLAUCUS   AND   IONE. 

Advancing,  as  men  grope  for  escape  in  a  dungeon, 
lone  and  her  lover  continued  their  uncertain  way.  At 
the  moments  when  the  volcanic  lightnings  lingered 
over  the  streets,  they  were  enabled,  by  that  awful  light, 
to  steer  and  guide  their  progress:  yet,  little  did  the 
view  it  presented  to  them  cheer  or  encourage  their 
path.  In  parts,  where  the  ashes  lay  dry  and  uncom- 
mixed  with  the  boiling  torrents,  cast  upward  from  the 
mountain  at  capricious  intervals,  the  surface  of  the 
earth  presented  a  leprous  and  ghastly  white.  In  other 
places,  cinder  and  rock  lay  matted  in  heaps,  from  be- 
neath which  emerged  the  half-hid  limbs  of  some 
crushed  and  mangled  fugitive.  The  groans  of  the 
dying  were  broken  by  wild  shrieks  of  women's  terror 
— now  near,  now  distant — which,  when  heard  in  the 
utter  darkness,  were  rendered  doubly  appalling  by  the 
crushing  sense  of  helplessness  and  the  uncertainty  of 
the  perils  around ;  and  clear  and  distinct  through  all 
were  the  mighty  and  various  noises  from  the  Fatal 
Mountain ;  its  rushing  winds ;  its  whirling  torrents ; 
and,  from  time  to  time,  the  burst  and  roar  of  some 
more  fiery  and  fierce  explosion.  And  ever  as  the 
winds  swept  howling  along  the  street,  they  bore  sharp 
streams  of  burning  dust,  and  such  sickening  and 
poisonous  vapours,  as  took  away,  for  the  instant, 
breath  and  consciousness,  followed  by  a  rapid  revul- 
sion of  the  arrested  blood,  and  a  tingling  sensation  of 
agony  trembling  through  every  nerve  and  fibre  of  the 
frame. 

"  Oh,  Glaucus !  my  beloved !  my  own ! — take  me  to 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         527 

thy  arms !  One  embrace !  let  me  feel  thy  arms  around 
me — and  in  that  embrace  let  me  die — I  can  no  more !  " 

"  For  my  sake,  for  my  life — courage,  yet,  sweet 
lone — my  life  is  linked  with  thine:  and  see — torches 
— this  way !  Lo !  how  they  brave  the  wind  !  Ha !  they 
live  through  the  storm — doubtless,  fugitives  to  the 
sea! — we  will  join  them." 

As  if  to  aid  and  reanimate  the  lovers,  the  winds  and 
showers  came  to  a  sudden  pause ;  the  atmosphere  was 
profoundly  still — the  mountain  seemed  to  rest,  gath- 
ering, perhaps,  fresh  fury  for  its  next  burst :  the  torch- 
bearers  moved  quickly  on.  "  We  are  nearing  the  sea," 
said,  in  a  calm  voice,  the  person  at  their  head.  "  Lib- 
erty and  wealth  to  each  slave  who  survives  this  day! 
Courage — I  tell  you  that  the  gods  themselves  have  as- 
sured me  of  deliverance — On !  " 

Redly  and  steadily  the  torches  flashed  full  on  the 
eyes  of  Glaucus  and  lone,  who  lay  trembling  and  ex- 
hausted on  his  bosom.  Several  slaves  were  bearing, 
by  the  light,  panniers  and  coffers,  heavily  laden ;  in 
front  of  them,  a  drawn  sword  in  his  hand, — towered 
the  lofty  form  of  Arbaces. 

"  By  my  fathers !  "  cried  the  Egyptian,  "  Fate  smiles 
upon  me  even  through  these  horrors,  and,  amidst  the 
dreadest  aspects  of  woe  and  death,  bodes  me  happiness 
and  love.  Away,  Greek !  I  claim  my  ward,  lone !  " 

"  Traitor  and  murderer !  "  cried  Glaucus,  glaring 
upon  his  foe,  "  Nemesis  hath  guided  thee  to  my  re- 
venge!— a  just  sacrifice  to  the  shades  of  Hades,  that 
now  seem  loosed  on  earth.  Approach — touch  but  the 
hand  of  lone,  and  thy  weapon  shall  be  as  a  reed — I  will 
tear  thee  limb  from  limb !  " 

Suddenly  as  he  spoke,  the  place  became  lighted  with 
an  intense  and  lurid  glow.  Bright  and  gigantic 


528        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

through  the  darkness,  which  closed  around  it  like  the 
walls  of  hell,  the  mountain  shone — a  pile  of  fire!  Its 
summit  seemed  riven  in  two;  or  rather,  above  its  sur- 
face there  seemed  to  rise  two  monster  shapes,  each 
confronting  each,  as  Demons  contending  for  a  World. 
These  were  of  one  deep  blood-red  hue  of  fire,  which 
lighted  up  the  whole  atmosphere  far  and  wide ;  but, 
below,  the  nether  part  of  the  mountain  was  still  dark 
and  shrouded  save,  in  three  places,  adown  which 
flowed,  serpentine  and  irregular,  rivers  of  molten 
lava.1  Darkly  red  through  the  profound  gloom  of 
their  banks,  they  flowed  slowly  on,  as  towards  the  de- 
voted city.  Over  the  broadest  there  seemed  to  spring 
a  cragged  and  stupendous  arch,  from  which,  as  from 
the  jaws  of  hell,  gushed  the  sources  of  the  sudden 
Phlegethon.  And  through  the  still  air  was  heard  the 
rattling  of  the  fragments  of  rock,  hurtling  one  upon 
another  as  they  were  borne  down  the  fiery  cataracts — 
darkening,  for  one  instant,  the  spot  where  they  fell, 
and  suffused  the  next,  in  the  burnished  hues  of  the 
flood  which  they  floated ! 

The  slaves  shrieked  aloud,  and,  cowering,  hid  their 
faces.  The  Egyptian  himself  stood  transfixed  to  the 
spot,  the  glow  lighting  up  his  commanding  features 
and  jewelled  robes.  High  behind  him  rose  a  tall  col- 
umn that  supported  the  bronze  statue  of  Augustus; 
and  the  imperial  image  seemed  changed  to  a  shape  of 
fire! 

With  his  left  hand  circled  round  the  form  of  lone — 
with  his  right  arm  raised  in  menace,  and  grasping  the 
stilus  which  was  to  have  been  his  weapon  in  the  arena, 
and  which  he  still  fortunately  bore  about  him,  with  his 
brow  knit,  his  lips  apart,  the  wrath  and  menace  of  hu- 
1  See  note  (a)  at  the  end. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         529 

man  passions  arrested  as  by  a  charm,  upon  his  features, 
Glaucus  fronted  the  Egyptian  ! 

Arbaces  turned  his  eyes  from  the  mountain — they 
rested  on  the  form  of  Glaucus !  He  paused  a  moment : 
"  Why,"  he  muttered,  "  should  I  hesitate  ?  Did  not  the 
stars  foretell  the  only  crisis  of  imminent  peril  to  which 
I  was  subjected? — Is  not  that  peril  past? 

"  The  soul,"  cried  he  aloud,  "  can  brave  the  wreck 
of  worlds  and  the  wrath  of  imaginary  gods !  By  that 
soul  will  I  conquer  to  the  last!  Advance,  slaves! — 
Athenian,  resist  me,  and  thy  blood  be  on  thine  own 
head !  Thus,  then,  I  regain  lone !  " 

He  advanced  one  step — it  was  his  last  on  earth !  The 
ground  shook  beneath  him  with  a  convulsion  that  cast 
all  around  upon  its  surface.  A  simultaneous  crash  re- 
sounded through  the  city,  as  down  toppled  many  a 
roof  and  pillar! — the  lightning,  as  if  caught  by  the 
metal,  lingered  an  instant  on  the  Imperial  Statue — 
then  shivered  bronze  and  column !  Down  fell  the  ruin, 
echoing  along  the  street,  and  riving  the  solid  pave- 
ment where  it  crashed ! — The  prophecy  of  the  stars  was 
fulfilled. 

The  sound — the  shock,  stunned  the  Athenian  for 
several  moments.  When  he  recovered,  the  light  still 
illumined  the  scene — the  earth  still  slid  and  trembled 
beneath !  lone  lay  senseless  on  the  ground ;  but  he  saw 
her  not  yet — his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  a  ghastly  face 
that  seemed  to  emerge,  without  limbs  or  trunk,  from 
the  huge  fragments  of  the  shattered  column — a  face  of 
unutterable  pain,  agony,  and  despair!  The  eyes  shut 
and  opened  rapidly,  as  if  sense  were  not  yet  fled ;  the 
lips  quivered  and  grinned — then  sudden  stillness  and 
darkness  fell  over  the  features,  yet  retaining  that  as- 
pect of  horror  never  to  be  forgotten ! 

34 


530        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

So  perished  the  wise  Magician — the  great  Arbaces 
— the  Hermes  of  the  Burning  Belt — the  last  of  the 
royalty  of  Egypt ! 

CHAPTER  IX 

THE  DESPAIR  OF  THE  LOVERS. THE  CONDITION  OF  THE 

MULTITUDE. 

Glaucus  turned  in  gratitude  but  in  awe,  caught  lone 
once  more  in  his  arms,  and  fled  along  the  street,  that 
was  yet  intensely  luminous.  But  suddenly  a  duller 
shade  fell  over  the  air.  Instinctively  he  turned  to  the 
mountain,  and  behold !  one  of  the  two  gigantic  crests, 
into  which  the  summit  had  been  divided,  rocked  and 
wavered  to  and  fro;  and  then,  with  a  sound,  the 
mightiness  of  which  no  language  can  describe;  it  fell 
from  its  burning  base,  and  rushed,  an  avalanche  of  fire, 
down  the  sides  of  the  mountain !  At  the  same  instant 
gushed  forth  a  volume  of  blackest  smoke  rolling  on, 
over  air,  sea,  and  earth. 

Another — and  another — and  another  shower  of 
ashes  far  more  profuse  than  before,  scattered  fresh 
desolation  along  the  streets.  Darkness  once  more 
wrapped  them  as  a  veil ;  and  Glaucus,  his  bold  heart  at 
last  quelled  and  despairing,  sank  beneath  the  cover  of 
an  arch,  and,  clasping  lone  to  his  heart — a  bride  on 
that  couch  of  ruin — resigned  himself  to  die. 

Meanwhile  Nydia,  when  separated  by  the  throng 
from  Glaucus  and  lone,  had  in  vain  endeavoured  to 
regain  them.  In  vain  she  raised  that  plaintive  cry  so 
peculiar  to  the  blind;  it  was  lost  amidst  a  thousand 
shrieks  of  more  selfish  terror.  Again  and  again  she 
returned  to  the  spot  where  they  had  been  divided — to 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        531 

find  her  companions  gone,  to  seize  every  fugitive — 
to  inquire  of  Glaucus — to  be  dashed  aside  in  the  im- 
patience of  distraction.  Who  in  that  hour  spared  one 
thought  to  his  neighbour?  Perhaps  in  scenes  of  uni- 
versal horror,  nothing  is  more  horrid  than  the  unnat- 
ural selfishness  they  engender.  At  length  it  occurred 
to  Nydia,  that  as  it  had  been  resolved  to  seek  the  sea- 
shore for  escape,  her  most  probable  chance  of  rejoin- 
ing her  companions  would  be  to  persevere  in  that  di- 
rection.- Guiding  her  steps,  then,  by  the  staff  which 
she  always  carried,  she  continued,  with  incredible  dex- 
terity, to  avoid  the  masses  of  ruin  that  encumbered 
the  path — to  thread  the  streets — and  unerringly  (so 
blessed  now  was  that  accustomed  darkness,  so  afflict- 
ing in  ordinary  life!)  to  take  the  nearest  direction  to 
the  sea-side. 

Poor  girl ! — her  courage  was  beautiful  to  behold ! — 
and  Fate  seemed  to  favour  one  so  helpless.  The  boil- 
ing torrents  touched  her  not,  save  by  the  general  rain 
which  accompanied  them;  the  huge  fragments  of 
scoria  shivered  the  pavement  before  and  beside  her,  but 
spared  that  frail  form:  and  when  the  lesser  ashes  fell 
over  her,  she  shook  them  away  with  a  slight  tremor,1 
and  dauntlessly  resumed  her  course. 

Weak,  exposed,  yet  fearless,  supported  but  by  one 
wish,  she  was  a  very  emblem  of  Psyche  in  her  wander- 
ings; of  Hope,  walking  through  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow ;  of  the  soul  itself — lone  but  undaunted,  amidst 
the  dangers  and  the  snares  of  life ! 

Her  path  was,  however,  constantly  impeded  by  the 
crowds  that  now  groped  amidst  the  gloom,  now  fled 

1  "  A  heavy  shower  of  ashes  rained  upon  us,  which  every 
now  and  then  we  were  obliged  to  shake  off,  otherwise  we 
should  have  been  crushed  and  buried  in  the  heap." — Pliny. 


532        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

in  the  temporary  glare  of  the  lightnings  across  the 
scene ;  and,  at  length,  a  group  of  torch-bearers  rushing 
full  against  her,  she  was  thrown  down  with  some  vio- 
lence. 

"  What !  "  said  the  voice  of  one  of  the  party,  "  is 
this  the  brave  blind  girl?  By  Bacchus,  she  must  not 
be  left  here  to  die!  Up!  my  Thessalian!  So — so. 
Are  you  hurt  ?  That's  well.  Come  along  with  us !  we 
are  for  the  shore !  " 

"  O  Sallust !  It  is  thy  voice !  The  gods  be  thanked ! 
Glaucus !  Glaucus !  have  ye  seen  him  ?  " 

"  Not  I.  He  is  doubtless  out  of  the  city  by  this  time. 
The  gods  who  saved  him  from  the  lion  will  save  him 
from  the  burning  mountain." 

As  the  kindly  epicure  thus  encouraged  Nydia,  he 
drew  her  along  with  him  towards  the  sea,  heeding  not 
her  passionate  entreaties  that  he  would  linger  yet  a 
while  to  search  for  Glaucus ;  and  still,  in  the  accent  of 
despair,  she  continued  to  shriek  out  that  beloved  name, 
which  amidst  all  the  roar  of  the  convulsed  elements, 
kept  alive  a  music  at  her  heart. 

The  sudden  illumination,  the  bursts  of  the  floods  of 
lava,  and  the  earthquake,  which  we  have  already  de- 
scribed, chanced  when  Sallust  and  his  party  had  just 
gained  the  direct  path  leading  from  the  city  to  the 
port;  and  here  they  were  arrested  by  an  immense 
crowd,  more  than  half  the  population  of  the  city.  They 
spread  along  the  field  without  the  walls,  thousands 
upon  thousands,  uncertain  whither  to  fly.  The  sea  had 
retired  far  from  the  shore ;  and  they  who  had  fled  to  it 
had  been  so  terrified  by  the  agitation  and  preternatural 
shrinking  of  the  element,  the  gasping  forms  of  the  un- 
couth sea  things  which  the  waves  had  left  upon  the 
sand,  and  by  the  sound  of  the  huge  stones  cast  from 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         533 

the  mountain  into  the  deep,  that  they  had  returned 
again  to  the  land,  as  presenting  the  less  frightful  as- 
pect of  the  two.  Thus  the  two  streams  of  human 
beings,  the  one  seaward,  the  other  from  the  sea,  had 
met  together,  feeling  a  sad  comfort  in  numbers;  ar- 
rested in  despair  and  doubt. 

"  The  world  is  to  be  destroyed  by  fire,"  said  an  old 
man  in  long  loose  robes,  a  philosopher  of  the  Stoic 
school :  "  Stoic  and  Epicurean  wisdom  have  alike 
agreed  in  this  prediction ;  and  the  hour  is  come ! " 

"  Yea ;  the  hour  is  come !  "  cried  a  loud  voice,  sol- 
emn but  not  fearful. 

Those  around  turned  in  dismay.  The  voice  came 
from  above  them.  It  was  the  voice  of  Olinthus,  who, 
surrounded  by  his  Christian  friends,  stood  upon  an  ab- 
rupt eminence  on  which  the  old  Greek  colonists  had 
raised  a  temple  to  Apollo,  now  time-worn  and  half  in 
ruin. 

As  he  spoke,  there  came  that  sudden  illumination 
which  had  heralded  the  death  of  Arbaces,  and  glowing 
over  that  mighty  multitude,  awed,  crouching,  breath- 
less— never  on  earth  had  the  faces  of  men  seemed  so 
haggard! — never  had  meeting  of  mortal  beings  been 
so  stamped  with  the  horror  and  sublimity  of  dread  I—- 
never till  the  last  trumpet  sounds,  shall  such  meeting 
be  seen  again !  And  above  rose  the  form  of  Olinthus, 
with  outstretched  arm  and  prophet  brow,  girt  with  the 
living  fires.  And  the  crowd  knew  the  face  of  him 
they  had  doomed  to  the  fangs  of  the  beast — then  their 
victim — now  their  warner ;  and  through  the  stillness 
again  came  his  ominous  voice — 

"  The  hour  is  come !  " 

The  Christians  repeated  the  cry.  It  was  caught  up 
— it  was  echoed  from  side  to  side — woman  and  man, 


534        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

childhood  and  old  age,  repeated,  not  aloud,  but  in  a 
smothered  and  dreary  murmur — 

"THE  HOUR  HAS  COME!" 

At  that  moment,  a  wild  yell  burst  through  the  air; 
— and,  thinking  only  of  escape,  whither  it  knew  not, 
the  terrible  tiger  of  the  desert  leaped  amongst  the 
throng,  and  hurried  through  its  parted  streams.  And 
so  came  the  earthquake, — and  so  darkness  once  more 
fell  over  the  earth ! 

And  now  new  fugitives  arrived.  Grasping  the  treas- 
ures no  longer  destined  for  their  lord,  the  slaves  of 
Arbaces  joined  the  throng.  One  only  of  their  torches 
yet  flickered  on.  It  was  borne  by  Sosia;  and  its  light 
falling  on  the  face  of  Nydia,  he  recognised  the  Thes- 
salian. 

"  What  avails  thy  liberty  now,  blind  girl  ?  "  said  the 
slave. 

"  Who  art  thou  ?  canst  thou  tell  me  of  Glaucus  ?  " 

"  Ay ;  I  saw  him  but  a  few  minutes  since." 

"  Blessed  be  thy  head !  where  ?  " 

"  Crouched  beneath  the  arch  of  the  forum — dead  or 
dying! — gone  to  rejoin  Arbaces  who  is  no  more!  " 

Nydia  uttered  not  a  word,  she  slid  from  the  side  of 
Sallust;  silently  she  glided  through  those  behind  her, 
and  retraced  her  steps  to  the  city.  She  gained  the 
forum — the  arch ;  she  stooped  down — she  felt  around 
— she  called  on  the  name  of  Glaucus. 

A  weak  voice  answered — "  Who  calls  on  me  ?  Is  it 
the  voice  of  the  Shades  ?  Lo !  I  am  prepared !  " 

"  Arise !  follow  me !  Take  my  hand !  Glaucus,  thou 
shalt  be  saved !  " 

In  wonder  and  sudden  hope,  Glaucus  arose — "  Ny- 
dia still  ?  Ah  !  thou,  then,  art  safe !  " 

The  tender  joy  of  his  voice  pierced  the  heart  of  the 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        535 

poor  Thessalian,  and  she  blessed  him  for  his  thought 
of  her. 

Half  leading,  half  carrying  lone,  Glaucus  followed 
his  guide.  With  admirable  discretion,  she  avoided  the 
path  which  led  to  the  crowd  she  had  just  quitted,  and, 
by  another  route,  sought  the  shore. 

After  many  pauses  and  incredible  perseverance, 
they  gained  the  sea,  and  joined  a  group,  who,  bolder 
than  the  rest,  resolved  to  hazard  any  peril  rather  than 
continue  in  such  a  scene.  In  darkness  they  put  forth 
to  sea;  but,  as  they  cleared  the  land  and  caught  new 
aspects  of  the  mountain,  its  channels  of  molten  fire 
threw  a  partial  redness  over  the  waves. 

Utterly  exhausted  and  worn  out,  lone  slept  on  the 
breast  of  Glaucus  and  Nydia  lay  at  his  feet.  Mean- 
while the  showers  of  dust  and  ashes,  still  borne  aloft, 
fell  into  the  wave,  and  scattered  their  snows  over  the 
deck.  Far  and  wide,  borne  by  the  winds,  those  showers 
descended  upon  the  remotest  climes,  startling  even  the 
swarthy  African ;  and  whirled  along  the  antique  soil 
of  Syria  and  of  Egypt.1 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   NEXT   MORNING. — THE   FATE  OF   NYDIA. 

And  meekly,  softly,  beautifully,  dawned  at  last  the 
light  over  the  trembling  deep ! — the  winds  were  sink- 
ing into  rest — the  foam  died  from  the  glowing  azure 
of  that  delicious  sea.  Around  the  east,  thin  mists 
caught  gradually  the  rosy  hues  that  heralded  the 
morning;  Light  was  about  to  resume  her  reign.  Yet, 
still,  dark  and  massive  in  the  distance,  lay  the  broken 
1  Dion  Cassius. 


536        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

fragments  of  the  destroying  cloud,  from  which  red 
streaks,  burning  dimlier  and  more  dim,  betrayed  the 
yet  rolling  fires  of  the  mountain  of  the  "  Scorched 
Fields."  The  white  walls  and  gleaming  columns  that 
had  adorned  the  lovely  coasts  were  no  more.  Sullen 
and  dull  were  the  shores  so  lately  crested  by  the  cities 
of  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii.  The  darlings  of  the 
Deep  were  snatched  from  her  embrace !  Century  after 
century  shall  the  mighty  Mother  stretch  forth  her  azure 
arms,  and  know  them  not — moaning  round  the  sepul- 
chres of  the  Lost ! 

There  was  no  skout  from  the  mariners  at  the  dawn- 
ing light — it  had  come  too  gradually,  and  they  were 
too  wearied  for  such  sudden  bursts  of  joy — but  there 
was  a  low,  deep  murmur  of  thankfulness  amidst  those 
watchers  of  the  long  night.  They  looked  at  each  other 
and  smiled — they  took  heart — they  felt  once  more  that 
there  was  a  world  around,  and  a  God  above  them! 
And  in  the  feeling  that  the  worst  was  passed,  the  over- 
wearied ones  turned  round,  and  fell  placidly  to  sleep. 
In  the  growing  light  of  the  skies  there  came  the  silence 
which  night  had  wanted:  and  the  bark  drifted  calmly 
onward  to  its  port.  A  few  other  vessels,  bearing  simi- 
lar fugitives,  might  be  seen  in  the  expanse,  apparently 
motionless,  yet  gliding  also  on.  There  was  a  sense  of 
security,  of  companionship,  and  of  hope,  in  the  sight  of 
their  slender  masts  and  white  sails.  What  beloved 
friends,  lost  and  missed  in  the  gloom,  might  they  not 
bear  to  safety  and  to  shelter ! 

In  the  silence  of  the  general  sleep,  Nydia  rose  gently. 
She  bent  over  the  face  of  Glaucus — she  inhaled  the 
deep  breath  of  his  heavy  slumber, — timidly  and  sadly 
she  kissed  his  brow — his  lips ;  she  felt  for  his  hand — it 
was  locked  in  that  of  lone ;  she  sighed  deeply,  and  her 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        537 

face  darkened.  Again  she  kissed  his  brow,  and  with 
her  hair  wiped  from  it  the  damps  of  night.  "  May  the 
gods  bless  you,  Athenian !  "  she  murmured :  "  may  you 
be  happy  with  your  beloved  one ! — may  you  sometimes 
remember  Nydia !  Alas !  she  is  of  no  further  use  on 
earth !  " 

With  these  words  she  turned  away.  Slowly  she 
crept  along  by  the  fori,  or  platforms,  to  the  farther  side 
of  the  vessel,  and,  pausing,  bent  low  over  the  deep; 
the  cool  spray  dashed  upward  on  her  feverish  brow. 
"  It  is  the  kiss  of  death,"  she  said — "  it  is  welcome." 
The  balmy  air  played  through  her  waving  tresses — 
she  put  them  from  her  face,  and  raised  those  eyes — so 
tender,  though  so  lightless — to  the  sky,  whose  soft  face 
she  had  never  seen ! 

"  No,  no !  "  she  said,  half  aloud,  and  in  a  musing 
and  thoughtful  tone,  "  I  cannot  endure  it;  this  jealous, 
exacting  love — it  shatters  my  whole  soul  in  madness ! 
I  might  harm  him  again — wretch  that  I  was !  I  have 
saved  him — twice  saved  him — happy,  happy  thought: 
why  not  die  happy? — it  is  the  last  glad  thought  I  can 
ever  know.  Oh !  sacred  Sea !  I  hear  thy  voice  in- 
vitingly— it  hath  a  freshening  and  joyous  call.  They 
say  that  in  thy  embrace  is  dishonour — that  thy  victims 
cross  not  the  fatal  Styx — be  it  so ! — I  would  not  meet 
him  in  the  Shades,  for  I  should  meet  him  still  with 
her.  Rest — rest — rest! — there  is  no  other  Elysium  for 
a  heart  like  mine !  " 

A  sailor,  half  dozing  on  the  deck,  heard  a  slight 
splash  on  the  waters.  Drowsily  he  looked  up,  and  be- 
hind, as  the  vessel  merrily  bounded  on,  he  fancied  he 
saw  something  white  above  the  waves ;  but  it  vanished 
in  an  instant.  He  turned  round  again,  and  dreamed  of 
his  home  and  children. 


538        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

When  the  lovers  awoke,  their  first  thought  was  of 
each  other — their  next  of  Nydia!  She  was  not  to  be 
found — none  had  seen  her  since  the  night.  Every 
crevice  of  the  vessel  was  searched — there  was  no  trace 
of  her.  Mysterious  from  first  to  last,  the  blind  Thes- 
salian  had  vanished  for  ever  from  the  living  world ! 
They  guessed  her  fate  in  silence:  and  Glaucus  and 
lone,  while  they  drew  nearer  to  each  other  (feeling 
each  other  the  world  itself)  forgot  their  deliverance, 
and  wept  as  for  a  departed  sister. 


CHAPTER   THE   LAST 

WHEREIN   ALL  THINGS   CEASE. 

Letter  from  Glau'cus  to  Sallust,  ten  years  after  the 
destruction  of  Pompeii. 

ATHENS. 

"  Glaucus  to  his  beloved  Sallust — greeting  and 
health! — You  request  me  to  visit  you  at  Rome — no, 
Sallust,  come  rather  to  me  at  Athens !  I  have  forsworn 
the  Imperial  City,  its  tumult  and  hollow  joys.  In  my 
own  land  henceforth  I  dwell  for  ever.  The  ghosts  of 
our  departed  greatness  are  dearer  to  me  than  the 
gaudy  life  of  your  loud  prosperity.  There  is  a  charm 
to  me  which  no  other  spot  can  supply,  in  the  porticoes 
hallowed  still  by  holy  and  venerable  shades.  In  the 
olive-groves  of  Ilissus  I  still  hear  the  voice  of  poetry 
— on  the  heights  of  Phyle,  the  clouds  of  twilight  seem 
yet  the  shrouds  of  departed  freedom — the  heralds — 
the  heralds — of  the  morrow  that  shall  come!  You 
smile  at  my  enthusiasm,  Sallust ! — Better  be  hopeful 
in  chains  than  resigned  to  their  glitter.  You  tell  me 
you  are  sure  that  I  cannot  enjoy  life  in  these  melan- 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         539 

choly  haunts  of  a  fallen  majesty.  You  dwell  with 
rapture  on  the  Roman  splendours  and  the  luxuries  of 
the  imperial  court.  My  Sallust — '  non  sum  qualis 
cram ' — I  am  not  what  I  was !  The  events  of  my  life 
have  sobered  the  bounding  blood  of  my  youth.  My 
health  has  never  quite  recovered  its  wonted  elasticity 
ere  it  felt  the  pangs  of  disease,  and  languished  in  the 
damps  of  a  criminal's  dungeon.  My  mind  has  never 
shaken  off  the  dark  shadow  of  the  Last  Day  of  Pom- 
peii— the  horror  and  the  desolation  of  that  awful  ruin ! 
— Our  beloved,  our  remembered  Nydia !  I  have  reared 
a  tomb  to  her  shade,  and  I  see  it  every  day  from  the 
window  of  my  study.  It  keeps  alive  in  me  a  tender 
recollection — a  not  unpleasing  sadness — which  are  but 
a  fitting  homage  to  her  fidelity,  and  the  mysteriousness 
of  her  early  death.  lone  gathers  the  flowers,  but  my 
own  hand  wreathes  them  daily  around  the  tomb.  She 
was  worthy  of  a  tomb  in  Athens ! 

•  "  You  speak  of  the  growing  sect  of  the  Christians  at 
Rome.  Sallust,  to  you  I  may  confide  my  secret;  I 
have  pondered  much  over  that  faith — I  have  adopted 
it.  After  the  destruction  of  Pompeii,  I  met  once  more 
with  Olinthus — saved,  alas,  only  for  a  day,  and  falling 
afterwards  a  martyr  to  the  indomitable  energy  of  his 
zeal.  In  my  preservation  from  the  lion  and  the  earth- 
quake he  taught  me  to  behold  the  hand  of  the  un- 
known God  !  I  listened — believed — adored !  My  own, 
my  more  than  ever  beloved  lone,  has  also  embraced 
the  creed! — a  creed,  Sallust,  which,  shedding  light 
over  this  world,  gathers  its  concentrated  glory,  like  a 
sunset,  over  the  next!  We  know  that  we  are  united 
in  the  soul,  as  in  the  flesh,  for  ever  and  for  ever !  Ages 
may  roll  on,  our  very  dust  be  dissolved,  the  earth 


540        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

shrivelled  like  a  scroll ;  but  round  and  round  the  circle 
of  eternity  rolls  the  wheel  of  life — imperishable — un- 
ceasing! And  as  the  earth  from  the  sun,  so  immor- 
tality drinks  happiness  from  virtue,  which  is  the  smile 
upon  the  face  of  God !  Visit  me,  then,  Sallust ;  bring 
with  you  the  learned  scrolls  of  Epicurus,  Pythagoras, 
Diogenes;  arm  yourself  for  defeat;  and  let  us  amidst 
the  groves  of  Academus  dispute,  under  a  surer  guide 
than  any  granted  to  our  fathers,  on  the  mighty  prob- 
lem of  the  true  ends  of  life  and  the  nature  of  the  soul. 
"  lone — at  that  name  my  heart  yet  beats ; — lone  is 
by  my  side  as  I  write:  I  lift  my  eyes,  and  meet  her 
smile.  The  sunlight  quivers  over  Hymettus:  and 
along  my  garden  I  hear  the  hum  of  the  summer  bees. 
Am  I  happy,  ask  you?  Oh,  what  can  Rome  give  me 
equal  to  what  I  possess  at  Athens?  Here,  everything 
awakens  the  soul  and  inspires  the  affections — the 
trees,  the  waters,  the  hills,  the  skies,  are  those  of 
Athens! — fair,  though  mourning — mother  of  the 
Poetry' and  the  Wisdom  of  the  World.  In  my  hall  I 
see  the  marble  faces  of  my  ancestors.  In  the  Ce- 
ramicus,  I  survey  their  tombs !  In  the  streets,  I  behold 
the  hand  of  Phidias  and  the  soul  of  Pericles.  Har- 
modius,  Aristogiton — they  are  everywhere — but  in  our 
hearts ! — in  mine,  at  least,  they  shall  not  perish !  If 
anything  can  make  me  forget  that  I  am  an  Athenian 
and  not  free,  it  is  partly  the  soothing — the  love — 
watchful,  vivid,  sleepless — of  lone: — a  love  that  has 
taken  a  new  sentiment  in  our  new  creed  * — a  love 
which  none  of  our  poets,  beautiful  though  they  be,  had 
shadowed  forth  in  description;  for  mingled  with  re- 
ligion, it  partakes  of  religion ;  it  is  blended  with  pure 
and  unworldly  thoughts;  it  is  that  which  we  may 
1  See  note  (b)  at  the  end. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         541 

hope  to  carry  through  eternity,  and  keep,  therefore, 
white  and  unsullied  that  we  may  not  blush  to  confess 
it  to  our  God !  This  is  the  true  type  of  the  dark  fable 
of  our  Grecian  Eros  and  Psyche — it  is,  in  truth,  the 
soul  asleep  in  the  arms  of  love.  And  if  this,  our  love, 
support  me  partly  against  the  fever  of  the  desire  for 
freedom,  my  religion  supports  me  more ;  for  when- 
ever I  would  grasp  the  sword  and  sound  the  shell,  and 
rush  to  a  new  Marathon  (but  Marathon  without  vic- 
tory), I  feel  my  despair  at  the  chilling  thought  of  my 
country's  impotence — the  crushing  weight  of  the  Ro- 
man yoke,  comforted,  at  least,  by  the  thought  that 
earth  is  but  the  beginning  of  life — that  the  glory  of  a 
few  years  matters  little  in  the  vast  space  of  eternity 
— that  there  is  no  perfect  freedom  till  the  chains  of 
clay  fall  from  the  soul,  and  all  space,  all  time,  become 
its  heritage  and  domain.  Yet,  Sallust,  some  mixture 
of  the  soft  Greek  blood  still  mingles  with  my  faith.  I 
can  share  not  the  zeal  of  those  who  see  crime  and  eter- 
nal wrath  in  men  who  cannot  believe  as  they.  I  shud- 
der not  at  the  creed  of  .others.  I  dare  not  curse  them — 
I  pray  the  Great  Father  to  convert.  This  lukewarm- 
ness  exposes  me  to  some  suspicion  amongst  the  Chris- 
tians: but  I  forgive  it;  and,  not  offending  openly  the 
prejudices  of  the  crowd,  I  am  thus  enabled  to  protect 
my  brethren  from  the  danger  of  the  law,  and  the  con- 
sequences of  their  own  zeal.  If  moderation  seem  to 
me  the  natural  creature  of  benevolence,  it  gives,  also, 
the  greatest  scope  of  beneficence. 

"  Such,  then,  O  Sallust !  is  my  life — such  my  opin- 
ions. In  this  manner  I  greet  existence  and  await  death. 
And  thou,  glad-hearted  and  kindly  pupil  of  Epicurus, 

thou But  come  hither,  and  see  what  enjoyments 

what  hopes  are  ours — and  not  the  splendour  of  im 


542        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

perial  banquets,  nor  shouts  of  the  crowded  circus,  nor 
the  noisy  forum,  nor  the  glittering  theatre,  nor  the 
luxuriant  gardens,  nor  the  voluptuous  baths  of  Rome, 
— shall  seem  to  thee  to  constitute  a  life  of  more  vivid 
and  uninterrupted  happiness  than  that  which  thou  so 
unreasonably  pitiest  as  the  career  of  Glaucus  the  Athe- 
nian ! — Farewell !  " 

****** 
****** 
Nearly  seventeen  centuries  had  rolled  away  when 
the  City  of  Pompeii  was  disinterred  from  its  silent 
tomb,1  all  vivid  with  undimmed  hues;  its  walls  fresh 
as  if  painted  yesterday, — not  a  hue  faded  on  the  rich 
mosaic  of  its  floors, — in  its  forum  the  half-finished  col- 
umns as  left  by  the  workman's  hand, — in  its  gardens 
the  sacrificial  tripod, — in  its  halls  the  chest  of  treas- 
ure,— in  its  baths  the  strigil, — in  its  theatres  the  coun- 
ter of  admission, — in  its  saloons  the  furniture  and  the 
lamp, — in  its  triclinia  the  fragments  of  the  last  feast, — 
in  its  cubicula  the  perfumes  and  the  rouge  of  faded 
beauty, — and  everywhere  the  bones  and  skeletons  of 
those  who  once  moved  the  springs  of  that  minute  yet 
gorgeous  machine  of  luxury  and  of  life ! 2 

In  the  house  of  Diomed,  in  the  subterranean  vaults, 
twenty  skeletons  (one  of  a  babe)  were  discovered  in 
one  spot  by  the  door,  covered  by  a  fine  ashen  dust,  that 
had  evidently  been  wafted  slowly  through  the  aper- 
tures, until  it  had  filled  the  whole  space.  There  were 
jewels  and  coins,  candelabra  for  unavailing  light,  and 
wine  hardened  in  the  amphorae  for  the  prolongation  of 
agonised  life.  The  sand,  consolidated  by  damps,  had 
taken  the  forms  of  the  skeletons  as  in  a  cast ;  and  the 

1  Destroyed  A.D.  79;  first  discovered  A.D.  1750. 
2  See  note  (c)  at  the  end. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         543 

traveller  may  yet  see  the  impression  of  a  female  neck 
and  bosom  of  young  and  round  proportions — the  trace 
of  the  fated  Julia !  It  seems  to  the  inquirer  as  if  the 
air  had  been  gradually  changed  into  a  sulphurous  va- 
pour ;  the  inmates  of  the  vaults  had  rushed  to  the  door, 
to  find  it  closed  and  blocked  up  by  the  scoria  without, 
and  in  their  attempts  to  force  it,  had  been  suffocated 
with  the  atmosphere. 

In  the  garden  was  found  a  skeleton  with  a  key  by 
its  bony  hand,  and  near  it  a  bag  of  coins.  This  is  be- 
lieved to  have  been  the  master  of  the  house — the  un- 
fortunate Diomed,  who  had  probably  sought  to  escape 
by  the  garden,  and  been  destroyed  either  by  the  va- 
pours or  some  fragment  of  stone.  Beside  some  silver 
vases  lay  another  skeleton,  probably  of  a  slave. 

The  houses  of  Sallust  and  of  Pansa,  the  Temple  of 
Isis,  with  the  juggling  concealments  behind  the 
statues — the  lurking-place  of  its  holy  oracles, — are 
now  bared  to  the  gaze  of  the  curious.  In  one  of  the 
chambers  of  that  temple  was  found  a  huge  skeleton 
with  an  axe  beside  it:  two  walls  had  been  pierced  by 
the  axe — the  victim  could  penetrate  no  farther.  In  the 
midst  of  the  city  was  found  another  skeleton,  by  the 
side  of  which  was  a  heap  of  coins,  and  many  of  the 
mystic  ornaments  of  the  fane  of  Isis.  Death  had  fallen 
upon  him  in  his  avarice,  and  Calenus  perished  simul- 
taneously with  Burbo !  As  the  excavators  cleared  on 
through  the  mass  of  ruin,  they  found  the  skeleton  of 
a  man  literally  severed  in  two  by  a  prostrate  column ; 
the  skull  was  of  so  striking  a  conformation,  so  boldly 
marked  in  its  intellectual,  as  well  as  its  worse  physical 
developments,  that  it  has  excited  the  constant  specula- 
tion of  every  itinerant  believer  in  the  theories  of 
Spurzheim  who  has  gazed  upon  that  ruined  palace  of 


544        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

the  mind.  Still,  after  the  lapse  of  ages,  the  traveller 
may  survey  that  airy  hall  within  whose  cunning  gal- 
leries and  elaborate  chambers  once  thought,  reasoned, 
dreamed,  and  sinned,  the  soul  of  Arbaces  the  Egyptian. 
Viewing  the  various  witnesses  of  a  social  system 
which  has  passed  from  the  world  for  ever — a  stranger, 
from  that  remote  barbarian  Isle  which  the  Imperial 
Roman  shivered  when  he  named,  paused  amidst  the 
delights  of  the  soft  Campania  and  composed  this 
history. 


NOTES 

NOTES   TO   BOOK   I 

(a)  p.  5. — "  Flowers  more  alluring  to  the  ancient  Italians 
than  to  their  descendants,"  &c. 

The  modern  Italians,  especially  those  of  the  more  southern 
parts  of  Italy,  have  a  peculiar  horror  of  perfumes;  they 
consider  them  remarkably  unwholesome;  and  the  Roman  or 
Neapolitan  lady  requests  her  visitors  not  to  use  them.  What 
is  very  strange,  the  nostril  so  susceptible  of  a  perfume  is  won- 
derfully obtuse  to  its  reverse.  You  may  literally  call  Rome, 
"  Sentina  Gentium  " — the  sink  of  nations. 

(&)  p.  30. — "  The  sixth  banqueter,  who  was  the  umbra  of 
Clodius." 

A  very  curious  and  interesting  treatise  might  be  written  on 
the  parasites  of  Greece  and  Rome.  In  the  former,  they  were 
more  degraded  than  in  the  latter  country.  The  Epistles  of 
Alciphron  express,  in  a  lively  manner,  the  insults  which  they 
underwent  for  the  sake  of  a  dinner:  one  man  complains  that 
fish-sauce  was  thrown  into  his  eyes — that  he  was  beat  on  the 
head,  and  given  to  eat  stones  smeared  with  honey;  while  a 
courtesan  threw  at  him  a  bladder  rilled  with  blood,  which  burst 
on  his  face  and  covered  him  with  the  stream.  The  manner  in 
which  these  parasites  repaid  the  hospitality  of  their  hosts 
was,  like  that  of  modern  diners-out,  by  witty  jokes  and  amus- 
ing stories;  sometimes  they  indulged  practical  jokes  on  each 
other,  "  boxing  one  another's  ears."  The  magistrates  at 
Athens  appear  to  have  looked  very  sternly  upon  these  humble 
buffoons,  and  they  complain  of  stripes  and  a  prison  with  no 
philosophical  resignation.  In  fact,  the  parasite  seems  at 
Athens  to  have  answered  the  purpose  of  the  fool  of  the  mid- 
dle ages;  but  he  was  far  more  worthless  and  perhaps  more 
witty — the  associate  of  courtesans,  uniting  the  pimp  with  the 
buffoon.  This  is  a  character  peculiar  to  Greece.  The  Latin 

545 


546        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

comic  writers  made  indeed  prodigal  use  of  the  parasite ;  yet 
he  appears  at  Rome  to  have  held  a  somewhat  higher  rank, 
and  to  have  met  with  a  somewhat  milder  treatment,  than  at 
Athens.  Nor  do  the  delineations  of  Terence,  which,  in  por- 
traying Athenian  manners,  probably  soften  down  whatever 
would  have  been  exaggerated  to  a  Roman  audience,  present 
so  degraded  or  so  abandoned  a  character  as  the  parasite  of 
Alciphron  and  Athenaeus.  The  more  haughty  and  fastidious 
Romans  often  disdained  indeed  to  admit  such  buffoons  as 
companions,  and  hired  (as  we  may  note  in  Pliny's  Epistles') 
fools  or  mountebanks,  to  entertain  their  guests  and  to  supply 
the  place  of  the  Grecian  parasite.  When  (be  it  observed) 
Clodius  is  styled  parasite  in  the  text,  the  reader  must  take  the 
modern,  not  the  ancient  interpretation  of  the  word. 

A  very  feeble,  but  very  flattering  reflex  of  the  parasite  was 
the  umbra  or  shadow,  who  accompanied  any  invited  guest, 
and  who  was  sometimes  a  man  of  equal  consequence,  though 
usually  a  poor  relative,  or  an  humble  friend — in  modern  cant, 
"  a  toady."  Such  is  the  umbra  of  our  friend  Clodius. 

(c)  p.  34. — "  The  dice  in  summer,  and  I  an  sedile !  " 

All  games  of  chance  were  forbidden  by  law  ("  Vetita  legi- 
bus  alea." — Horat.  Od.  xxiv.  i,  3),  except  "  in  Saturnalibus," 
during  the  month  of  December;  the  aediles  were  charged  with 
enforcing  this  law,  which,  like  all  laws  against  gaining,  in  all 
times,  was  wholly  ineffectual. 

(d)  p.  42. — "  The  small  but  graceful  temple  consecrated  to 
Isis." 

Sylla  is  said  to  have  transported  to  Italy  the  worship  of  the 
Egyptian  Isis.1  It  soon  became  "  the  rage,"  and  was  pecul- 
iarly in  vogue  with  the  Roman  ladies.  Its  priesthood  were 
sworn  to  chastity,  and,  like  all  such  brotherhoods,  were  noted 
for  their  licentiousness.  Juvenal  styles  the  priestesses  by  a 
name  (Isiacae  lenae)  that  denotes  how  convenient  they  were 
to  lovers,  and  under  the  mantle  of  night  many  an  amorous 
intrigue  was  carried  on  in  the  purlieus  of  the  sacred  temples. 

1  In  the  Campanian  cities  the  trade  with  Alexandria  was 
probably  more  efficacious  than  the  piety  of  Sylla  (no  very 
popular  example,  perhaps)  in  establishing  the  worship  of  the 
favourite  deity  of  Egypt. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         547 

A  lady  vowed  for  so  many  nights  to  watch  by  the  shrine  of 
Isis ; — it  was  a  sacrifice  of  continence  towards  her  husband, 
to  be  bestowed  on  her  lover!  While  one  passion  of  human 
nature  was  thus  appealed  to,  another  scarcely  less  strong  was 
also  pressed  into  the  service  of  the  goddess — namely  Credulity. 
The  priests  of  Isis  arrogated  a  knowledge  of  magic  and  of 
the  future.  Among  women  of  all  classes — and  among  many 
of  the  harder  sex — the  Egyptian  sorceries  were  consulted  and 
revered  as  oracles.  Voltaire,  with  much  plausible  ingenuity, 
endeavours  to  prove  that  the  gipsies  are  a  remnant  of  the 
ancient  priests  and  priestesses  of  Isis,  intermixed  with  those 
of  the  goddess  of  Syria.  In  the  time  of  Apuleius  these  holy 
impostors  had  lost  their  dignity  and  importance;  despised 
and  poor,  they  wandered  from  place  to  place  selling  prophecies 
and  curing  disorders;  and  Voltaire  shrewdly  bids  us  remark 
that  Apuleius  has  not  forgot  their  peculiar  skill  in  filching 
from  outhouses  and  courtyards — afterwards  they  practised 
palmistry  and  singular  dances  (query,  the  Bohemian  dances?). 
"  Such,"  says  the  too-conclusive  Frenchman,  "  such  has  been 
the  end  of  the  ancient  religion  of  Isis  and  Osiris,  whose  very 
names  still  impress  us  with  awe !  "  At  the  time  in  which  my 
story  is  cast,  the  worship  of  Isis  was,  however,  in  the  highest 
repute;  and  the  wealthy  devotees  sent  even  to  the  Nile,  that 
they  might  sprinkle  its  mysterious  waters  over  the  altars  of 
the  goddess.  I  have  introduced  the  ibis  in  the  sketch  of  the 
temple  of  Isis,  although  it  has  been  supposed  that  that  bird 
languished  and  died  when  taken  from  Egypt.  But  from  vari- 
ous reasons,  too  long  now  to  enumerate,  I  incline  to  believe 
that  the  ibis  was  by  no  means  unfrequent  in  the  Italian  tem- 
ples of  Isis,  though  it  rarely  lived  long,  and  refused  to  breed 
in  a  foreign  climate. 


NOTE  TO   BOOK   II 

(a)  p.  176. — "  The  marvels  of  Faustus  are  not  comparable 
to  those  of  Apollonius." 

During  the  earlier  ages  of  the  Christian  epoch,  the  heathen 
philosophy,  especially  of  Pythagoras  and  of  Plato,  had  become 
debased  and  adulterated,  not  only  by  the  wildest  mysticism, 
but  the  most  chimerical  dreams  of  magic.  Pythagoras,  indeed, 


548        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

scarcely  merited  a  nobler  destiny;  for  though  he  was  an  ex- 
ceedingly clever  man,  he  was  a  most  prodigious  mountebank, 
and  was  exactly  formed  to  be  the  great  father  of  a  school  of 
magicians.  Pythagoras  himself  either  cultivated  magic  or  ar- 
rogated its  attributes,  and  his  followers  told  marvellous  tales 
of  his  writing  on  the  moon's  disc,  and  appearing  in  several 
places  at  once.  His  golden  rules  and  his  golden  thigh  were 
in  especial  veneration  in  Magna  Graecia,  and  out  of  his  doc- 
trines of  occult  numbers  his  followers  extracted  numbers  of 
doctrines.  The  most  remarkable  of  the  later  impostors  who 
succeed  him  was  Apollonius  of  Tyana,  referred  to  in  the  text. 
All  sorts  of  prodigies  accompanied  the  birth  of  this  gentleman. 
Proteus,  the  Egyptian  god,  foretold  to  his  mother,  yet  preg- 
nant, that  it  was  he  himself  (Proteus)  who  was  about  to  re- 
appear in  the  world  through  her  agency.  After  this  Proteus 
might  well  be  considered  to  possess  the  power  of  transforma- 
tion !  Apollonius  knew  the  language  of  birds,  read  men's 
thoughts  in  their  bosoms,  and  walked  about  with  a  familiar 
spirit.  He  was  a  devil  of  a  fellow  with  a  devil,  and  induced 
a  mob  to  stone  a  poor  demon  of  venerable  and  mendicant  ap- 
pearance, who,  after  the  lapidary  operation,  changed  into  a 
huge  dog.  He  raised  the  dead,  passed  a  night  with  Achilles, 
and,  when  Domitian  was  murdered,  he  called  out  aloud 
(though  at  Ephesus  at  the  moment),  "Strike  the  tyrant!" 
The  end  of  so  honest  and  great  a  man  was  worthy  his  life. 
It  would  seem  that  he  ascended  into  heaven.  What  less  could 
be  expected  of  one  who  had  stoned  the  devil !  Should  any 
English  writer  meditate  a  new  Faust,  I  recommend  to  him 
Apollonius. 

But  the  magicians  of  this  sort  were  philosophers  (  !) — ex- 
cellent men  and  pious ;  there  were  others  of  a  far  darker  and 
deadlier  knowledge,  the  followers  of  the  Goetic  magic;  in 
other  words,  the  Black  Art.  Both  of  these,  the  Goetic  and 
the  Theurgic,  seem  to  be  of  Egyptian  origin ;  and  it  is  evi- 
dent, at  least,  that  their  practitioners  appeared  to  pride  them- 
selves on  drawing  their  chief  secrets  from  that  ancient  source ; 
and  both  are  intimately  connected  with  astrology.  In  attribut- 
ing to  Arbaces  the  knowledge  and  the  repute  of  magic,  as  well 
as  that  of  the  science  of  the  stars,  I  am,  therefore,  perfectly 
in  accordance  with  the  spirit  of  his  time,  and  the  circumstances 
of  his  birth.  He  is  a  characteristic  of  that  age.  At  one  time,  I 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        549 

purposed  to  have  developed  and  detailed  more  than  I  have 
done  the  pretensions  of  Arbaces  to  the  mastery  of  his  art,  and 
to  have  initiated  the  reader  into  the  various  sorceries  of  the 
period.  But  as  the  character  of  the  Egyptian  grew  upon  me, 
I  felt  that  it  was  necessary  to  be  sparing  of  that  machinery 
which,  thanks  to  the  march  of  knowledge,  every  one  now  may 
fancy  he  can  detect.  Such  as  he  is,  Arbaces  is  become  too 
much  of  an  intellectual  creation  to  demand  a  frequent  repeti- 
tion of  the  coarser  and  more  physical  materials  of  terror.  I 
suffered  him,  then,  merely  to  demonstrate  his  capacities  in  the 
elementary  and  obvious  secrets  of  his  craft,  and  leave  the 
subtler  magic  he  possesses  to  rest  in  mystery  and  shadow. 

As  to  the  Witch  of  Vesuvius — her  spells  and  her  philtres, 
her  cavern  and  its  appliances,  however  familiar  to  us  of  the 
North,  are  faithful  also  to  her  time  and  nation.  A  witch  of  a 
lighter  character,  and  manners  less  ascetic,  the  learned  reader 
will  remember  with  delight  in  the  Golden  Ass  of  Apuleius; 
and  the  reader  who  is  not  learned,  is  recommended  to  the 
spirited  translations  of  that  enchanting  romance  by  Taylor. 


NOTE  TO  BOOK  III 
(a)  p.  199. — "  The  influence  of  the  evil  eye." 

This  superstition,  to  which  I  have  more  than  once  alluded 
throughout  this  work,  still  flourishes  in  Magna  Grascia,  with 
scarcely  diminished  vigour.  I  remember  conversing  at  Naples 
with  a  lady  of  the  highest  rank,  and  of  intellect  and  informa- 
tion very  uncommon  amongst  the  noble  Italians  of  either  sex, 
when  I  suddenly  observed  her  change  colour,  and  make  a  rapid 
and  singular  motion  with  her  finger.  "  My  God,  that  man !  " 
she  whispered,  tremblingly. 

"  What  man?  " 

"  See !  the  Count !  he  has  just  entered  !  " 

"  He  ought  to  be  much  flattered  to  cause  such  emotion ; 
doubtless  he  has  been  one  of  the  Signora's  admirers?  " 

"  Admirer !  Heaven  forbid.  He  has  the  evil  eye  !  His  look 
fell  full  upon  me.  Something  dreadful  will  certainly  happen." 

"  I  see  nothing  remarkable  in  his  eyes." 

"  So  much  the  worse.  The  danger  is  greater  for  being  dis- 
guised. He  is  a  terrible  man.  The  last  time  he  looked  upon 


550        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

my  husband,  it  was  at  cards,  and  he  lost  half  his  income  at  a 
sitting;  his  ill-luck  was  miraculous.  The  count  met  my  little 
boy  in  the  gardens,  and  the  poor  child  broke  his  arm  that 
evening.  Oh!  what  shall  I  do?  something  dreadful  will  cer- 
tainly happen — and,  heavens !  he  is  admiring  my  cap !  " 

"  Does  every  one  find  the  eyes  of  the  count  equally  fatal 
and  his  admiration  equally  exciting?" 

"  Every  one — he  is  universally  dreaded ;  and,  what  is  very 
strange,  he  is  so  angry  if  he  sees  you  avoid  him !  " 

"  That  is  very  strange  indeed !  the  wretch !  " 

At  Naples  the  superstition  works  well  for  the  jewellers, — 
so  many  charms  and  talismans  as  they  sell  for  the  ominous 
fascination  of  the  mal-occhio!  In  Pompeii,  the  talismans  were 
equally  numerous,  but  not  always  of  so  elegant  a  shape,  nor 
of. so  decorous  a  character.  But,  generally  speaking,  a  coral 
ornament  was,  as  it  now  is,  among  the  favourite  averters  of 
the  evil  influence.  Thebans  about  Pontus  were  supposed  to 
have  an  hereditary  claim  to  this  charming  attribute,  and  could 
even  kill  grown-up  men  with  a  glance.  As  for  Africa,  where 
the  belief  also  still  exists,  certain  families  could  not  only  de- 
stroy children,  but  wither  up  trees — they  did  this,  not  with 
curses  but  praises.  The  malus  oculus  was  not  always  different 
from  the  eyes  of  other  people.  But  persons,  especially  of  the 
fairer  sex,  with  double  pupils  to  the  organ,  were  above  all  to  be 
shunned  and  dreaded.  The  Illyrians  were  said  to  possess  this 
fatal  deformity.  In  all  countries,  even  in  the  North,  the  eye 
has  ever  been  held  the  chief  seat  of  fascination ;  but  now-a- 
days,  ladies  with  a  single  pupil  manage  the  work  of  destruc- 
tion pretty  easily.  So  much  do  we  improve  upon  our  fore- 
fathers !  

NOTE  TO   BOOK   IV 
(a)  p.  461. 

"  We  care  not  for  gods  up  above  us, — 
We  know  there's  no  god  for  this  earth,  boys! " 

The  doctrines  of  Epicurus  himself  are  pure  and  simple.  Far 
from  denying  the  existence  of  diviner  powers,  Velleius  (the 
defender  and  explainer  of  his  philosophy  in  Cicero's  dialogue 
on  the  nature  of  the  gods)  asserts  "  that  Epicurus  was  the 
first  who  saw  that  there  were  gods,  from  the  impression  which 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII         551 

Nature  herself  makes  on  the  minds  of  all  men."  He  imagined 
the  belief  of  the  Deity  to  be  an  innate  or  antecedent  notion 
(irp6\-n\^is)  of  the  mind — a  doctrine  of  which  modern  meta- 
physicians (certainly  not  Epicureans)  have  largely  availed 
themselves !  He  believed  that  worship  was  due  to  the  divine 
powers  from  the  veneration  which  felicity  and  excellence  com- 
mand, and  not  from  any  dread  of  their  vengeance,  or  awe  of 
their  power :  a  sublime  and  fearless  philosophy,  suitable  per- 
haps to  half  a  dozen  great  and  refined  spirits,  but  which  would 
present  no  check  to  the  passions  of  the  mass  of  mankind.  Ac- 
cording to  him,  the  gods  were  far  too  agreeably  employed  in 
contemplating  their  own  happiness  to  trouble  their  heads 
about  the  sorrows  and  the  joys,  the  quarrels  and  the  cares,  the 
petty  and  transitory  affairs,  of  man.  For  this  earth  they  were 
unsympathising  abstractions : 

"  Wrapt  up  in  majesty  divine, 
Can  they  regard  on  what  we  dine ! " 

Cotta,  who,  in  the  dialogue  referred  to,  attacks  the  philosophy 
of  Epicurus  with  great  pleasantry,  and  considerable,  though 
not  uniform,  success,  draws  the  evident  and  practical  corollary 
from  the  theory  that  asserts  the  non-interference  of  the  gods. 
"  How,"  says  he,  "  can  there  be  sanctity,  if  the  gods  regard 
not  human  affairs? — if  the  Deity  show  no  benevolence  to  man, 
let  us  dismiss  Him  at  once.  Why  should  I  entreat  Him  to  be 
propitious  ?  He  cannot  be  propitious, — since,  according  to  you, 
favour  and  benevolence  are  only  the  effects  of  imbecility." 
Cotta,  indeed,  quotes  from  Posidonius  (De  Naturd  Deorum), 
to  prove  that  Epicurus  did  not  really  believe  in  the  existence 
of  a  God ;  but  that  his  concession  of  a  being  wholly  nugatory 
was  merely  a  precaution  against  accusations  of  atheism.  "  Epi- 
curus could  not  be  such  a  fool,"  says  Cotta,  "  as  sincerely  to 
believe  that  a  Deity  has  the  members  of  a  man  without  the 
power  to  use  them ;  a  thin  pellucidity,  regarding  no  one  and 
doing  nothing."  And,  whether  this  be  true  or  false  concern- 
ing Epicurus,  it  is  certain  that,  to  all  effects  and  purposes,  his 
later  disciples  were  but  refining  atheists.  The  sentiments  ot- 
tered in  the  song  in  the  text  are  precisely  those  professed  in 
sober  prose  by  the  graceful  philosophers  of  the  garden,  who, 
as  they  had  wholly  perverted  the  morals  of  Epicurus,  which 
are  at  once  pure  and  practical,  found  it  a  much  easier  task  to 
corrupt  his  metaphysics,  which  are  equally  dangerous  and 
visionary. 


552        THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII 

NOTES  TO   BOOK  V 
(a)  p.  528. — "  Rivers  of  the  molten  lava." 

Various  theories  as  to  the  exact  mode  by  which  Pompeii 
was  destroyed  have  been  invented  by  the  ingenious ;  I  have 
adopted  that  which  is  the  most  generally  received,  and  which, 
upon  inspepting  the  strata,  appears  the  only  one  admissible  by 
common  sense ;  namely,  a  destruction  by  showers  of  ashes, 
and  boiling  water,  mingled  with  frequent  irruptions  of  large 
stones,  and  aided  by  partial  convulsions  of  the  earth.  Her- 
culaneum,  on  the  contrary,  appears  to  have  received  not  only 
the  showers  of  ashes,  but  also  inundations  from  molten  lava; 
and  the  streams  referred  to  in  the  text  must  be  considered  as 
destined  for  that  city  rather  than  for  Pompeii.  The  volcanic 
lightnings  introduced  in  my  description  were  evidently  among 
the  engines  of  ruin  at  Pompeii.  Papyrus,  and  other  of  the 
more  inflammable  materials,  are  found  in  a  burnt  state.  Some 
substances  in  metal  are  partially  melted;  and  a  bronze  statue 
is  completely  shivered,  as  by  lightning.  Upon  the  whole  (ex- 
cepting only  the  inevitable  poetic  license  of  shortening  the 
time  which  the  destruction  occupied),  I  believe  my  description 
of  that  awful  event  is  very  little  assisted  by  invention,  and 
will  be  found  not  the  less  accurate  for  its  appearance  in  a 
Romance. 

(&)  p.  540. — "  A  love  that  has  taken  a  new  sentiment  in  our 
new  creed." 

What  we  now  term,  and  feel  to  be,  sentiment  in  love,  was 
very  little  known  amongst  the  ancients,  and  at  this  day,  is 
scarcely  acknowledged  out  of  Christendom.  It  is  a  feeling 
intimately  connected  with — not  a  belief,  but  a  conviction,  that 
the  passion  is  of  the  soul,  and,  like  the  soul,  immortal.  Cha- 
teaubriand, in  that  work  so  full  both  of  error  and  of  truth, 
his  essay  on  The  Genius  of  Christianity,  has  referred  to  this 
sentiment  with  his  usual  eloquence.  It  makes,  indeed,  the 
great  distinction  between  the  amatory  poetry  of  the  moderns 
and  that  of  the  ancients.  And  I  have  thought  that  I  might, 
with  some  consonance  to  truth  and  nature,  attribute  the  con- 
sciousness of  this  sentiment  to  Glaucus  after  his  conversion  to 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII        553 

Christianity,  though  he  is  only  able  vaguely  to  guess  at,  rather 
than  thoroughly  to  explain,  its  cause. 

(c)  p.  542. — "  And  everywhere  the  bones  and  skeletons  of 
those  who  once  moved  the  springs  of  that  minute  yet  gorgeous 
machine  of  luxury  and  of  life !  " 

At  present  (1834)  there  have  been  about  three  hundred  and 
fifty  or  four  hundred  skeletons  discovered  in  Pompeii ;  but  as 
a  great  part  of  the  city  is  yet  to  be  disinterred,  we  can  scarcely 
calculate  the  number  of  those  who  perished  in  the  destruction. 
Still,  however,  we  have  every  reason  to  conclude  that  they 
were  very  few  in  proportion  to  those  who  escaped.  The  ashes 
had  been  evidently  cleared  away  from  many  of  the  houses,  no 
doubt  for  the  purpose  of  recovering  whatever  treasures  had 
been  left  behind.  The  mansion  of  our  friend  Sallust  is  one 
of  those  thus  revisited.  The  skeletons  which,  reanimated  for 
a  while,  the  reader  has  seen  play  their  brief  parts  upon  the 
stage,  under  the  names  of  Burbo,  Calenus,  Diomed,  Julia,  and 
Arbaces,  were  found  exactly  as  described  in  the  text.  May 
they  have  been  reanimated  more  successfully  for  the  pleasure 
of  the  reader  than  they  have  been  for  the  solace  of  the  author, 
who  has  vainly  endeavoured,  in  the  work  which  he  now  con- 
cludes, to  beguile  the  most  painful,  gloomy,  and  despondent 
period  of  a  life,  in  the  web  of  which  has  been  woven  less  of 
white  than  the  world  may  deem !  But  like  most  other  friends, 
the  Imagination  is  capricious,  and  forsakes  us  often  at  the 
moment  in  which  we  most  need  its  aid.  As  we  grow  older,  we 
begin  to  learn  that,  of  the  two,  our  more  faithful  and  steadfast 
comforter  is — Custom.  But  I  should  apologise  for  this  sud- 
den and  unseasonable  indulgence  of  a  momentary  weakness 
— it  is  but  for  a  moment.  With  returning  health  returns  also 
that  energy  without  which  the  soul  were  given  us  in  vain,  and 
which  enables  us  calmly  to  face  the  evils  of  our  being,  and 
resolutely  to  fulfil  its  objects.  There  is  but  one  philosophy 
(though  there  are  a  thousand  schools),  and  its  name  is 
Fortitude. 

"  TO  BEAR  IS  TO   CONQUER  OUR  FATE !  " 

THE  END 


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